


an invincible summer

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Bromance, Bullying, Car Accidents, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Domestic, Drowning, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, References to Addiction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: A series of connected short stories which follow Aaron and Robert and Liv from the spring of 2016 to the spring of 2017. (Follows canon up until Christmas 2016.)





	1. spring 2017

**Author's Note:**

> So, 2016 was a good year for the Robron fandom! 
> 
> My way of celebrating this was to write 24 connected short stories as an advent calendar. A theme throughout the entire collection of stories is Aaron's mental health and, specifically, his struggle with self-harm so please consider that a warning. Also, please note that, in regards to self-harm and the other difficult subjects handled in the story, Aaron, Robert and the rest don't necessarily do or say the "right" things in any given scenario. Rather, they just do whatever I consider to be in-character for them. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are more than welcome! <3

> _“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”_  
>  \- Albert Camus

“You know, I really regretted telling you.”

They're in bed, both of them naked under the comforting weight of the duvet. The room's dark around them and Robert's spent the past ten minutes idly drawing patterns against Aaron's back with his fingertips. Aaron has come to recognize the dramatic swoop of a capital R and the sloppy loop of an E and he's begun to suspect that he's being branded with invisible letters.

“Regretted telling me about what?” Robert asks, his hand stilling.

“About _him_ ,” Aaron explains. “I regretted telling you about what _he_ did to me.”

Part of him hates that he's bringing it up again. That he's destroying this moment, this quiet stretch of time just before they fall asleep which ought to be theirs and theirs alone. But if there's one thing that he's been forced to learn over the past year it's that he can't afford to keep quiet. That, when it comes to Gordon, they're all far better off if Aaron just lets the poison seep out of him rather than allowing it fester inside where it's bound to make him sick.

“I could see what it did to everyone,” he continues, forcing the words out, “and I _hated_ it. Making my mum so upset. Knowing that I'd made a right mess out of Liv's life.”

Aaron exhales shakily, then rolls over so that they're laying face to face. With his throat tightening and all words abandoning him, he burrows his face into the hollow space between Robert's shoulder and jaw, nosing at the cologne clinging to his lover's skin. He settles there, pushing close to the other man as he waits out the worst of the storm. It's not half as bad as it used to be. Aaron knows now, in a way that he never quite did before, that the moment will pass and that he'll still be alive and sane at the end of it.

He takes a deep breath, gorging himself on the scent of Robert's skin.

“But laying here beside you,” he continues in a shaky voice, “with Liv just down the hallway, I don't regret it anymore. I'm just grateful that you found me when you did. That you kept asking and pushing. So, thank you. For not giving up on me.”

Robert makes a soft sound, like all the air's been punched out of him. Then his hand begins moving again. Only this time, his fingers trace over Aaron's chest, moving slowly like Aaron's body holds a story written in braille and Robert's reading each raised bump and line with reverent care.

“I'm grateful too,” he finally says. “Grateful that you're here.”

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Saying it out loud, it makes Aaron's face flush red with embarrassment. But, well, if he can't say these things here – in the privacy of their bedroom, under the cover of the darkness and with his face hidden away in the crook of Robert's neck – well, then when will he ever say them? And these things, they're all things which need saying. Robert deserves to be told that he's a good man. That he's loved. And wanted.

“Glad to hear that,” Robert says, his voice rough. His hands, they feel cold and not quite steady as they brush against the scars scattered over Aaron's belly. “But that's not what I meant. I'm just so damn grateful that you're here _at all_.”

Aaron grimaces, his heart sinking as he thinks back to just how bad things had been.


	2. february 2016

“Can't feel any worse, can I?”

They're parked up just outside Sandra's house, stuck in a car that reeks of anxiety and sweat-damp cotton. Aaron's sat in front of the wheel, looking ill, and Robert can feel the beginning of yet another stress headache sneak up on him as he breathes through his mouth and tries to think of a way to salvage the situation.

They'd passed a pub on the way to Sandra's. The way that Robert remembers it, the place had looked decent enough so they could probably go there. Find somewhere dark and quiet to sit, maybe near the back, where no one would notice Aaron's blotchy face and shaking hands. They could stay there for however long they needed. However long _Aaron_ needed.

“We drove past a pub earlier,” he says out loud. “Didn't look half-bad.”

Aaron shrugs and turns around, heading back the way that they came.

They drive in silence, passing row after row of brick houses before they reach the main street. Aaron parks under some barren trees and Robert's just about to hint that maybe they should get some food to go with their drinks when Aaron just _bolts_. The young man moves fast, already out the door and halfway down the street before Robert even realizes what's happened.

“Wait up,” he calls, struggling with his seat belt and all but tripping over himself in his hurry to get out of the car.

But Aaron doesn't as much as slow down. Robert glances at the unlocked car, then back to where Aaron's hunched-over figure has just disappeared around a corner. Cursing under his breath, he shoves his wallet and phone into his pocket and puts his long legs to good use. It can't take him more than a minute to catch up with Aaron, but it feels like longer. At the end of his jog, Robert huffs and puffs, sweating in his coat like an old man.

“Aaron,” he pants. “Hey, Aaron, _wait_.”

But Aaron just ignores him. Even without Robert chasing after him, he still walks so fast that he might as well be running. He keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched and he meets all of Robert's questions with the same impenetrable wall of silence. It's almost like Aaron can't hear him and Robert, he's not one to scare easily but now he can taste the fear bubbling in the back of his throat.

The street takes them to a park and in the middle of the park, there's a lake. There, by the water and next to a copse of trees, Aaron comes to a sudden halt. He just stops and bends over, hands braced on his thighs and his back heaving. Robert takes a quick step backward, expecting Aaron to be sick all over the frozen ground, but instead he just straightens back up again. It's the first proper look that Robert's had of the other man's face since they left the car. Aaron's eyes, wild and round, dart from left to right until they fall on a nearby tree. It's an gnarly old thing with leafless branches and a trunk so wide that Robert would struggle to wrap his arms around it.

And, somehow, Robert knows exactly what's about to happen. _Knows_ , but even so, he's too slow to stop the first swing. Too slow to stop Aaron from splitting his knuckles open against the tree trunk, the young man eerily quiet even though the force of the blow leaves blood smeared against the bark. Acting on instinct, Robert wraps himself around Aaron and holds him tight to his chest.

“No,” he hears himself say, his voice thin and breathless, “no, Aaron, c'mon, you know I can't let you do that.”

Aaron doesn't answer, just shakes his head and keeps struggling. In a fair fight, there's no way that Robert could hold him, but here and now there's nothing coordinated about the younger man's effort to break free.

“Lemme go,” Aaron begs. “Please.”

He's breathing all wrong, each inhale quick and shallow. Sweat beads on his forehead and there's a dazed look in his eyes. Robert feels bad for holding on so tight – worries that it might trigger bad memories – but the very thought of letting go terrifies him.

“If I do,” he says, “will you promise not to do anything stupid?”

Aaron makes a low noise, something that's definitely not the promise that Robert needs to hear. So he keeps holding tight. They stay like that for what seems like forever, swaying gently while Robert ignores the stares of people passing by and tries to work out the right moment to break the silence.

“If you didn't want to buy me a pint, you could have just said,” he eventually says, trying to keep his voice light as he begins easing up on his grip. “No need to do a runner just to avoid paying for your round.”

Aaron huffs a breath, pulling away to wipe a hand across his eyes.

“Maybe some coffee would be better, eh?” Robert continues. “I could do with a sandwich too. Have you ever had hummus and coriander?”

“Don't be gross,” Aaron orders, giving him a disgusted glare. His voice comes out rough enough to peel the paint off a house, but, even so, Robert can't help but think that those words sound a lot like _thank you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of these stories I'm happier with than others. This, this is definitely not one of them. 
> 
> But, even so, happy 2nd of December! :)


	3. march 2016

Aaron startles as the door to the portacabin bangs open.

He drops the first aid box, plasters and antiseptic wipes spilling all over the floor. Feeling his face heat up he yanks at his sleeve, desperate to cover himself up even though he knows that it's too late. That there's no way that anyone could have missed the state of his arm.

The door closes and there's a moment of silence. It drags on for just long enough to give Aaron's stomach the time it needs to work itself into a Gordian knot. It's with bile rising in the back of his throat that Aaron falls to his knees, attempting to distract himself by tidying up the mess on the floor. Only his hands, they're too big and they're too clumsy and he's only making everything worse.

The way that he _always_ ends up making everything worse.

“C'mon, mate, it's alright, it's just me,” Adam says, his boots appearing at the very edge of Aaron's field of vision. “Just... _please_ tell you me that weren't doing that to yourself in here, not with me stood just outside like some mug.”

For once, there's nothing light about his voice. Nothing amused.

Aaron shakes his head.

“No, n-no, 'course not,” he says, half-stumbling over the words in his hurry to get them out. “They're old. I couldn't sleep last night and-”

His voice falters and he falls quiet. Saying it out loud like that, it makes it all sound so stupid. He stares down at the floor, unable to bring himself to look his best mate in the face. Adam must think that he's tapped. He has to be wondering just what he's gotten himself into, starting a business with a basket case like Aaron.

“Was just gonna clean myself up a bit, that's all,” he continues. "Don't want to get another infection, do I?"

Of course, that's only half the truth, innit? The other half – the _important_ half – is that the fabric of Aaron's t-shirt has become stuck to the cuts, tugging fiercely at his skin whenever he moves. It hurts, sure, but that's not what's been bothering him all morning. No, what finally pushed Aaron to search out the first aid box is how the constant reminder of the previous night leaves him wanting to do himself even worse damage.

But, well, it's not like he can say _that_ out loud.

“Yeah?” Adam says, sounding thoughtful. “Alright. C'mon then.”

With that said, Adam reaches down to grab hold of Aaron's hand, tugging him up to his feet with the ease of someone who's been hauling grain sacks since he learned how to toddle. And Aaron, he's not quite ready for it and so he ends up swaying, black dots spreading like spilled ink before his eyes and the world spinning lazily around him. Part of him wants to lean into his mate but, all things considered, he figures that he's embarrassed himself enough for one day. So, gritting his teeth, he shrugs off Adam's hands and stumbles toward the sink, resting discretely against it as he waits for the other man to leave. Only Adam doesn't.

Instead, he picks up the first aid box and crowds Aaron against the sink, his shoulder bumping into Aaron's and his cologne tickling Aaron's nose. His hands push at Aaron's shoulders and -- even though it's _Adam_ and Adam's as safe as it gets -- Aaron can't help but to try and squirm away.

“What do you think you're doing?” he demands. “Get off me.”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Adam snaps back, exasperation in his voice. “I'm giving you a hand, that's what.”

The mere thought of it causes Aaron to break into a sweat.

“Well, how about you go make yourself useful out there instead,” he growls, helpless to stop the way that his hands curl into fists and his chin juts up like he's preparing for a fight. “I can take care of this myself.”

“I'm sure you can,” Adam agrees. “I'm sure that you've had plenty of practice, mate. But this time, I'm doing it for you. Alright?”

He sounds so matter of fact about it that Aaron forgets himself and lifts his head. Their eyes meet and Adam's eyes, they're so damned warm. They draw Aaron in and they hold him firm, making something inside of him settle. Makes it possible for him to breathe again. There's not a lot of people who's ever had that effect on him, but Adam... Adam's he's always been one of them.

And so, even though the effort of it has him shaking and sweating, Aaron lets his best mate grab hold of his arm. Adam's hands roll up the sleeve, far gentler than Aaron ever has been with himself. They still for a moment and Aaron imagines that Adam must be staring, taking in the mess of old and new damage. He steels himself, squeezing his eyes shut, but Adam keeps his thoughts to himself. Doesn't say a single word to add to the shame that's already growing and festering inside of Aaron like a tumor.

The tap starts running, the cheap pipes grumbling and sputtering. Aaron listens to it, trying to lose himself in the sound as Adam cleans the cuts, scrubbing away crusted blood and dabbing the antiseptic wipes against raw wounds. It does far more than just sting but Aaron keeps his mouth shut and his face blank. Figures that it's the very least that he can do for his mate.

“There,” Adam finally says. “That's better.”

Aaron opens his eyes to find that his arm has been wrapped up neatly, all the damage hidden away under several layers of pristine bandage. It strikes him as wasteful. Nothing more than a layer of fresh paint on a decrepit building. Besides, it won't last long. He'll be tearing it all off at bedtime, if not before then.

“Yeah,” he says all the same. “Cheers.”

“Not too shabby, eh?” Adam sounds pleased as he inspects his work. “Less Frankenstein's monster and more... the mummy?”

“Oi!”

But something shifts then – the gloom lifting, replaced by a semblance of normalcy – and they both laugh.

Aaron tugs down his sleeve, taking care as he pulls the fabric over the bandages. Then he goes to put on a brew, pulling down two cups without asking. Takes out the milk and the sugar as well, puttering about in the kitchen while he waits for the kettle to boil. When the tea's done, he hands Adam one of the cups and gets rewarded with half a chocolate bar. It's already half-melted when Adam presses it into his hand and Aaron ends up licking most of it off his own fingers. It's sweet and sticky, almost cloying with nutty bits which stick in his teeth.

“Hey,” Adam says, looking at him over the brim of his cup. “If it happens again, if you can't sleep, or if you feel bad, then you call me, alright? You come see me. I'll kick your arse in Halo or we'll get plastered or we'll just... talk. Whatever you need, bro.”

There's no doubt in Aaron's mind that Adam means it. And, in that moment, he wishes more than anything that he was in a place where he could make that kind of promise. A place where he could _keep_ that kind of promise.

“I'll try,” he says instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, no Robert. It's madness! Hope you enjoyed the bromance instead. 
> 
> Happy 3rd of December!


	4. march 2016

Aaron pushes through the crowd, desperate to escape everyone's worried eyes and the general din of the pub.

As he stumbles out the door, he thinks of going back to the scrapyard or maybe just down the road and then away, out on the empty fields or up into the dark forest beyond the village. It's been ages since he last went for a run. Ages since he last felt his feet pound against the hard ground. But as much as those ideas tempt him, Aaron doesn't want to be alone. Or, rather, he doesn't _trust_ himself to be alone, not with how messed up the past few weeks have left him.

So, instead, he staggers over to one of the wooden benches outside the pub. He sinks down there, ducking his head between his legs as he gulps for air. His heart beats fast enough that it makes him queasy, the remnants of his tea pressing insistently against the back of his throat. Behind him, the door to the pub opens. Light and sound spill out into the street and Aaron hunches in on himself. The people leave without taking notice of him and he breathes a sigh of relief. Even though he knows that everyone means well, he just can't take any more questions. It does his head in, the way that everyone keeps talking to him, demanding answers and explanations to stuff that he still struggles to put words to even inside his own head.

He folds his hands over his neck and exhales slowly. Tries to remember the breathing exercise that Paddy had taught him, years and years ago. It helps a little. The weight of the phone in his pocket does its bit to make him feel better too. It's like a lifeline, innit, knowing that he can have Adam there in a moment with just a text. Hell, he could have _Robert_ there in minutes and doesn't that just make his head spin. Only... the last thing that Aaron's messed-up head needs right now is more complications. And the things that Robert does to him – how the man makes Aaron feel and think and _want_ – well, it's nothing if not complicated. But even so, the very possibility of it offers comfort.

After a while, he hears someone walking down the street, towards the pub. Aaron listens to the approach of heavy steps in loose gravel and tries not to imagine the worst. It's just that Gordon has proven himself to be slippery. He keeps showing up in places that he's not meant to be, places which are meant to be safe. And each time he whispers his ugly threats, making Aaron feel like he's eight years old all over again. _God._ Maybe he should have called someone. At least then there would be a witness around for their confrontation.

The steps slow. A shadow falls over him. Aaron's breath speeds up and he steels himself for the rasp of his father's voice. But then, just as he's about to bolt, a familiar blend of scents hit him; cologne, engine grease and leather.

“Cain,” he breathes and his uncle grunts in confirmation.

The man doesn't say anything else though. Just sits down next to Aaron, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

A few cars drive by the pub. A group of people hurry past them without speaking. It gets colder. Aaron pulls the hood over his head and pulls his hands into the sleeves. Finds a loose thread that he wraps around his finger, pulling it tight. It's not near enough to begin to bleed the tension out of him, but it's better than nothing and far safer than the things he might have done without Cain's steady presence to keep him in check.

Eventually, he lifts his head to stare up into the night. The sky's dark and heavy above them, no signs of the stars and the moon no more than a hazy outline. There are still lights on in some of the windows, but most of the curtains have been drawn shut. The village's falling asleep.

“Anything I can do?” Cain asks, his voice no gruffer than usual.

In response, Aaron shakes his head. He glances in the direction of Keeper's Cottage and thinks of Robert, having a cup of tea or reading a book before bedtime. Stares down the long road leading out of town and thinks again, with savage longing, of running.

“Just stay,” he says, the words barely audible.

“Alright,” his uncle says. “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Robert tomorrow, promise. And on the 6th, well, things will get steamy! ;-)
> 
> Hope you've all had a nice second Sunday of Advent!


	5. april 2016

Her hands shake as she removes her make-up and she watches, with horrified fascination, as a tired and gray face appears in the mirror. She gathers her hair and ties it back in a messy bun, hardly recognizing the woman that stares back at her. When had Chas last felt truly like herself? _With Gordon_ , a treacherous voice whispers and she presses a hand against her mouth to hold in a whimper. Aaron's bound to still be awake. It wouldn't do for him to hear her.

Pushing down the surge of _wrongness_ , she then wraps herself up in her dressing gown and sticks her bare feet into the fluffy slippers that Diane got her for her birthday. Takes one last look at herself in the mirror before slipping a bottle of sleeping pills into her pocket. She'll be needing one of them pills soon, but there's something that she has to do first.

The past few months, Chas has gone to check on her son every night that they've spent under the same roof. By now, she reckons that he knows to expect her. She hopes that maybe he finds some small comfort in that. That maybe he even feels safer knowing that his old mum's around to keep an eye on him. Even if he doesn't – even if Chas has failed her only child so badly that the very notion of her watching over him just strikes him as a bad joke – well, then at least it makes her feel better. And she needs it. Needs it so that she can find the strength to get up every morning and put on her make-up and her brightest smile and be strong for her boy.

Now, most nights she had found Aaron still awake, staring up at the ceiling or sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. On some of those nights, she had sat down with him and they had talked. About Gordon, a couple of times, but mostly it had just been her filling the silence, telling Aaron stories from back when she and Cain were little. More than once, Aaron had accused her of making things up, exhaustion mingled with disbelief making his accent seem even thicker than usual. Each time she had laughed and denied it. Then she had followed it up by embellishing the next story with even more implausible details just for the pleasure of seeing something other than misery on his face.

A few times, she had found him caught up in a nightmare. Now, waking him up from one of those, it never failed to leave her reeling. Each time it happened she found herself calling Cain in the morning, just so that her big brother could come and glue her back together again. One night, and on that one night alone, she had pushed the door open to find Aaron sat there with a box cutter. He hadn't tried to hide it. Hadn't tried to stop her as she tore it out of his hands. Hadn't done much of anything, really, except kept still and quiet as she wrapped herself around him. Chas hadn't slept a wink that night, running on fumes all day and watching the world pass by in a fog.

Tonight's going to be different, though. It's bound to be because now it's finally done. They had won. Gordon had been found guilty and Aaron, he had been given justice. With the trial behind them, things would finally get better. Aaron would get better, and then she would too. Chas clings to that hope as she turns the bathroom light off and eases the door closed behind her. Repeats it to herself, over and over again, as she tiptoes down the hallway.

She's just about to knock when she hears the voices.

“You sure about this?” Robert asks. “Because if you're not ready-”

“Stop asking,” Aaron orders, his voice a low rumble.

It's not eavesdropping, Chas tells herself as she lingers in the hallway. She's just looking after her little boy. She's just taking care of him, keeping him safe from harm, the way that she should have done from the beginning. Robert's been good to him lately, it's true, but that hasn't always been the case, has it? He's hurt her boy too and she can't just forget that.

“I could sleep on the floor,” Robert offers and, to Chas' amazement, he sounds _sincere_. Like he would actually sleep on her son's floor like some manky mutt.

“I know,” Aaron answers. “But I don't want you to, alright? I want you here. With me.”

There's a long silence, followed by the rustle of fabric. The bed being unmade perhaps. Or maybe clothes falling to the ground. Chas knows that she'll have to leave. That whatever happens next, it's between the two of them. Aaron wouldn't want her listening in on it. Wouldn't just be embarrassed if he found out, but ashamed too. And if there's one thing that she never wants to do, it's to pile more shame on shoulders that had already carried too much of it.

Taking a deep breath, she prepares to go.

“Suppose I should warn you,” she hears and she stills again. Thinks: _just one more minute, just to be sure_. “I've been having nightmares. Bad ones. I might wake you.”

“So?” Robert replies, not sounding bothered in the slightest. “I kick in my sleep. And I've been told that I hog the duvet.”

Aaron huffs a laughter and Chas steps away from the door. She tiptoes back to her room, the prescription bottle clutched in her hand and the same old mantra going through her head. Things would get better now. Aaron would get better and then she would too.

The past few minutes had made those worn words just a little bit easier to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this one's something of a grammatical nightmare. I like to think that my English isn't too bad for a non-native but going back and forth between past and current events always trips me up. Never mind -- tomorrow there'll be smut and who one cares about grammar when people are about to get naked? ;-)
> 
> Hope you're all having a great Monday!


	6. april 2016

“Well, maybe I'm the one tired of taking it slow. Did you think of that?”

“Aaron, I-” 

_“I want you.”_

Those words, they do things to Robert. Steal his breath away, for one. They also make his mouth dry and his hands clumsy and his knees weak. Worst of all, they scare him witless because how can it not be terrifying that someone has such power over him. That someone can stand in front of Robert with dirty trainers and ragged nails and chapped lips and somehow still make the rest of the world just... fade away. 

“Can't we just,” Aaron continues, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, “can't we-” 

There's food on the table, food that Robert spent the afternoon cooking for them in his little sister's kitchen. There are drinks poured in proper glasses, a pale ale for Aaron and a Spanish red for Robert. There would have been candles too only Adam had peeked into the kitchen before he and Vic left for Leeds and, yeah, alright, in hindsight Robert could see his point. Aaron would probably have taken one look at the candlelit table setting and then done a runner. 

“Robert, can't we just...?” 

The legs of the chair scrape against the floor as Robert stands. He forgets about the food and the drinks and the fancy dessert which waits for them in the fridge. Forgets about taking it slow and getting it right and all the other promises that he's made himself over the past couple of weeks. Forgets it all because Aaron's stood in the middle of the room and he doesn't look scared or anxious or upset. Just... gloriously impatient. 

“Yeah,” he says, barely recognizing his own voice. “Yeah, of course we can.” 

He doesn't know who makes the first move, just that one moment they're standing there and the next they kiss. Aaron's lips, they're rough, and his mouth, it tastes of hops. When Aaron grips his arms, his hands feel warm and strong and insistent. They feel _just right_ and Robert can't remember why he had even bothered cooking or going shopping for fancy beer when they could have just gone straight upstairs. 

“Bed,” he says, tugging at Aaron's jumper. “C'mon.” 

They make it up the stairs and down the hallway, still tangled in each other. Aaron ushers Robert into the bedroom, distracting him with eager kisses and clever fingers until Robert finds himself suddenly guided down on the bed with Aaron looking down at him. Robert's fingers itch to reach up, to mess up Aaron's gelled hair and smooth away the furrows from his forehead, but playing a hunch he keeps his hands to himself instead. 

“This how you want me?” he asks, spreading his legs wide in a shameless invitation. 

In reply, Aaron puts his hands on Robert’s hips. His thumbs press against the jutting pelvic bones and the warmth of his palms seep through the layers of Robert’s clothing. He tugs Robert closer to the edge of the mattress until Robert's lower legs hang off the side. Pushing up on his elbows, Robert watches Aaron sink to his knees and nestle in between his spread knees. 

“Lift up,” Aaron orders. 

His hands shake as he reaches for the lining of Robert's trousers. Robert wants to reach down, wrap his hands over Aaron’s and still that trembling. But instead he just lifts his hips, allowing the younger man better access. He waits, as best as he knows how, as his lover undoes his trousers and then pulls them down past Robert’s thighs and knees. The fabric bunches up down by Robert’s feet, hindered by his shoes. 

It's an unforgivable way to treat an expensive suit, but Robert can't bring himself to care. 

The air’s cold against his bare skin and he shivers even though it's April. His thoughts drift then, back to Spain where the summer heat was a constant, sweltering presence. Someday he’ll take Aaron with him to Barcelona. Together they'll gaze up at the giant cathedrals and look out over the ocean. Drink wine and eat good food. Walk hand in hand in a place where nobody knows them. Cotton drags over his skin and Robert forgets about Spain. Focuses, instead, on the here and now. He's never been very good at that, but Aaron... Aaron's always had a way of anchoring him to the present. 

“You’re over-dressed,” he informs his boyfriend. 

“And you complain a lot for a bloke about to get his dick sucked,” Aaron counters even as he obediently sits back to pull off his top. If it weren't for the half-healed cuts marring his skin, he would look like something out of a magazine. 

Heat builds in his belly even before Aaron kneels back down, splaying his hands over the insides of Robert’s thighs. He pushes Robert's legs even further apart, making ample space for himself. His thumbs trace patterns over thin skin and sparks travel up Robert’s spine. The bed creaks as Aaron leans forward, his breath warm and his lips chapped as he kisses his way down south from Robert’s belly. 

There’s nothing practiced about it. Nothing seductive or provocative. Not like the girls that Robert had been with in the past, with their silky lingerie, smeared eye liner and tongue twisting tricks picked up from the most recent issue of Cosmopolitan. Not like the other men either, with their gym-toned bodies, fake tans and waxed chests. Aaron's always been different. Maybe that's how he had managed to make such a mess out of Robert's head. 

“You gonna do this or what?” Robert asks, his voice coming out hoarse and strained. “Because if you’re just gonna stare at my bits, then I’ll have to start charging you by the hour.” 

Aaron snorts a laughter, the scruff of his beard scraping against Robert's skin as he raises his head to meet Robert’s eyes. The laughter makes the lines on his forehead ease. It makes him look younger. Carefree even. 

“Didn’t know you were that hard up for cash,” Aaron says, smirking. 

Then he ducks his head back down again and Robert gives up all pretense of control. Gasping for breath he sinks back down on his back and fists the duvet. Tries, as best as he can, not to make a fool of himself but it’s not long before a whine escapes his throat. His hips jerk up by their own accord, causing Aaron to cough and splutter. 

“Sorry,” Robert pants. “Sorry.” 

Aaron glowers at him, then swallows him back down again. 

Robert pushes himself into a seated position and reaches down with shaky hands, combing his fingers through Aaron’s hair. Their eyes meet and something happens. Neither one of them looks away. Robert stares down at Aaron as wet sounds fill the room and fire licks up his spine. And Aaron, he keeps his eyes fixed on Robert’s face, panting through his nose as his fingers press against Robert’s hipbones and his tongue and throat work around Robert's dick. His eyes, they're dark and wet and hungry. 

_I want you_ , he'd said. And looking at him, Robert can believe it. 

“Aaron,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. 

And then, he falls back against the mattress with a harsh sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy smutty 6th of December! ;-)


	7. may 2016

“The mashed potato tastes weird,” Liv announces as she pokes at the yellow lump on her plate.

Across the table, Aaron's posh and useless boyfriend lets out a pained noise. His wine glass makes a dull thud as he sets it down on the table and she swears that she can hear him take a deep breath before he replies.

“That would be because it's not mashed potato,” he says, offering her a thin and insincere smile. “It's _polenta_.”

“Oh, it's poo-something, alright,” Liv agrees.

The words cause her brother to choke on a piece of chicken. His face turns an alarming shade of red and he makes wet, hacking noises as Robert thumps him between the shoulder blades. Liv ignores the small twinge of regret and busies herself by inspecting the chicken breast on her plate. It looks alright, she supposes. Perfect grill marks and what not. But on the other hand, it's _touching_ the poo-stuff. Also, it's been cooked by Robert _brother-hogging_ Sugden. So, yeah, she decides, that's a definite no. Which leaves her with nothing for her tea but a giant pile of steamed kale and a smear of red sauce.

Now, Liv's mum will never win any parent of the year award, but at least she's never served Liv _foreign food_. The two of them, they ate normal stuff. Lasagna or spag bol when Sandra felt up to cooking. Pizza, curries and kebabs when she didn't. Scowling, Liv pushes the plate away and leans back in the chair with her arms crossed.

“What's for afters?” she demands, focusing her glare at Robert.

“Nothing if you don't eat your food,” Robert assures her in his usual smug and insufferable voice.

It's as if he thinks that he's her _dad_ or something. Liv's just about to open her mouth when Aaron speaks up, sounding like he's swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. He's put down his knife and fork and sits clutching a glass of water while blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Leave the polenta and try the chicken,” he croaks. “It's not bad.”

He's a big softie, that one. Liv has to fight down the urge to ruffle his hair and bring him an ice lolly for his throat. Of course, she also has to bite her lip to keep from smirking as Robert turns in his chair to give her brother a betrayed look. At a guess, that stupid prat had been hoping for more than just a _'not bad'_ after slaving away in the kitchen for hours. Well, that should teach him not to insist on cooking after Liv's already suggested that they order something in for tea.

“Don't like chicken,” she lies. “Besides, it looks dry.”

Robert looks from Aaron to her and then back to Aaron again. His lips thin even further and his posture grows stiff as he realizes that he's not going to win this one.

“It's not dry,” he insists. “I used a _meat thermometer_.”

“Must have used it wrong then."

Robert looks properly riled up now, even though it's clear that he's doing his best to hide it under his paper-thin poker face. And that's apparently when Aaron reaches his breaking point.

“You're both doing my head in,” he snaps, picking up his fork and waving it in the air. A piece of kale hangs off one of the tines, waving in the air like a very limp, very green flag and Liv can't help but snigger.

“Sorry,” she then squeaks, finding herself on the receiving end of a _look_ from her brother.

“You should be,” Robert mutters, looking petulant.

When his comment doesn't earn him more than a _look_ of his own from Aaron, Robert scowls and shovels a big mouthful of polenta into his mouth. He chews it so aggressively that Liv's half-worried about his teeth. Or, well, she would be half-worried if the thought of Robert stuck in a dentist chair didn't strike her as both hilarious and well-earned.

“So,” she says, timing it so that Robert's just taken a gulp from his wine glass. “About afters...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Liv... Poor Robert. And poor Aaron.
> 
> Sorry about the late update. I think AO3 has been having some downtime.


	8. june 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: use of sex as a coping mechanism

Robert finds his boyfriend seated in the back of the pub.

“Alright?” he asks. 

He takes pride in the way that he manages to keep his voice mild even though adrenaline's been steadily pumping through his body for the past fifteen minutes. That's when he'd received a text message from Aaron, asking Robert to join him at the Woolie. Reading between the lines, it had been all too easy to make out the urgency behind the terse words. 

“Yeah,” Aaron mumbles. “Could do with some company, that's all.” 

He's sitting with his head down and his shoulders hunched. If Robert's dad were still alive then he would have told Aaron to speak up and sit up straight. But, well, Jack's dead and, for all his flaws, Robert not that kind of douchey. 

“I'll get the first round then,” he offers. “Your usual?” 

Aaron shakes his head. 

“Upstairs,” he says instead, lifting his head slightly. “If that's alright?” 

He's been chewing on his lips again, Robert realizes. They look red and swollen. Painful too. Robert's jaw tenses – a stupid tell that he's been doing his best to lose for the past five years – but other than that he likes to think that he doesn't let his frustration at the setback show. 

“Course it is,” he says, gesturing for Aaron to follow him. “Should I put on some tea for us?” 

It doesn't seem like a situation salvageable with a brew, but it doesn't hurt to ask. If nothing else, at least it shows that he's a civilized human being. 

The question's just met with another head shake, this one followed by Aaron jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. It's not the first time that Aaron's slipped into the role of a functional mute. Even though Robert likes to think that he's slowly learning how to handle that, it doesn't mean that he has to like it. He frowns, thoughts racing as he leads the way up the stairs and to Aaron's bedroom. 

It's bright in there, the curtains pulled aside and the midday sun high in the sky. The bed's unmade, the sheets rumpled and the duvet dragging on the floor. Robert automatically goes to fix the bed, tugging at the sheets and re-arranging the duvet before he pats the mattress in a wordless invitation. Aaron obediently sits. Hunches over right away, elbows resting against the sloping planes of his thighs and his head tucked low again, framed by his shoulders. Robert's fingers itch to touch, to run the palm of his hand down Aaron's spine and dig his thumbs into the tense muscles of his back. But he's not been invited to touch so instead he tucks his hands between his thighs, keeping them trapped there. 

“Did something happen?” he asks. 

Aaron's shoulders rise an inch, then fall again. It's the most minute of gestures. Barely even a shrug. And Robert, well, he might be a better man today that he'd been a year ago, but even so, it would be all too easy to give in to frustration. All too easy to push and push and push until he gets the answers that he needs. But, taking a deep breath, he forces himself to wait. 

“Can't concentrate,” Aaron eventually answers. “I just keep... _drifting_.” 

It goes without saying just where his thoughts go. Even dead and buried, Gordon has a terrible hold on him. Robert wants to ask why, though. Wants to know just what triggered it and then pick those reasons apart. Wants to figure out what they can learn from it and how they can keep it from happening again. But it's not the time and it's not the place and he pushes that aside too. 

“Adam sent me home. Said I was liable to get someone killed.” 

Aaron sounds disgusted and one of his hands sneak up, scratching at his bared neck. His nails, they're chewed down to a ragged nothing, but even so, he manages to leave behind angry, raised welts. 

“I can't,” he breathes. “I just can't stop thinking.” 

Robert knows that tone of voice. Knows that fruitless line of reasoning. Knows that, at best, it'll end with panicky breathing and Aaron's fingers digging like hooks into his own flesh. At worse, well... Robert knows all too well the kind of damage that Aaron's capable of doing to himself. 

“What can I do?” 

“Dunno,” Aaron mumbles. “Just... make it so I can't think?” 

His voice might be flat but he's pleading all the same. It's there for any fool to read in the stiffness of his shoulders and the defeated curve of his back. It's a call for help. So, giving in to instinct, Robert wraps his hand around the nape of Aaron's neck. He rubs his thumb first along his boyfriend's scruffy jawline, then down a few inches so that he can feel Aaron's pulse. It's racing, fluttering like a hummingbird just under the skin. 

“Trust me?” he asks. 

And this is probably a terrible idea. But it's also all that he can think of that might actually work. That might succeed in dragging Aaron away from the darkness inside his own head and anchor him in the here and now. In this place where he's safe and loved. So, ignoring the flutter of anxiety in his belly, Robert leans in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all having a great week! Thanks for the comments and kudos! :)


	9. june 2016

“I need to get better,” he says as soon as the door closes behind him.

His counselor blinks at him in badly hidden surprise. Not at the words, perhaps, as much as by the way that Aaron just blurts them out. Not that he can blame her. She's usually the one who has to start these conversations and then, more often than not, keep them going by gently prompting him along the way. 

“I need to stop,” he explains. “And I need to do it now.” 

They have, of course, been working toward that goal since the hospital referred Aaron here in the beginning of the year. But unlike the bloke that he'd gone to after Jackson died, Joanie's always made it clear that it's something which needs to happen on Aaron's own schedule. Until then, the two of them have worked out an action plan for Aaron to follow on bad days. 

Which is just a fancy way of saying that there's a list of things that he's said that he'll try before he hurts himself and a list of people that he's agreed to reach out to in case he doesn't trust himself to stay safe. Most of the time, the action plan works fine. And when it doesn't, well, then Aaron brings it up at his next session and they just talk about what he can do differently. 

He reckons that the lack of pressure must be what's kept him showing up for his appointments. Well that and Robert herding him to the car and driving him to Hotten. 

“Has something changed?” Joanie asks now, sitting down in one of the armchairs by the window. The second one's meant for Aaron, but he keeps standing, just about manging to keep from pacing. 

“Liv,” he says and, to him, just the name's enough of an answer. 

But the way that Joanie keeps quiet makes it clear that she expects more, so Aaron's left to struggle to put words to the thoughts racing through his head. It's never been an easy task and, for all that he's been coming here once a week for months, he's not sure that he's actually getting any better at it. 

“Me and Robert,” he finally says, “we took her on a holiday. We went kayaking and everything. Weather was good. Well, good for Wales anyway. Sunny. _Warm._ ” 

Just thinking about it has him tugging at his sleeves. Noticing Joanie's eyes following his hands, Aaron crosses his arms over his chest instead. 

“It was okay, I suppose,” he continues. “Only Liv, she kept going on about how I'd melt and stuff. Because of the heat and... the clothes I wore. She just wouldn't shuddup about it.” 

“You were wearing long sleeves despite the heat,” Joanie says, identifying the problem right away. At his nod, she continues: “How much does Liv know about your self-harm? 

Five years down the line and Aaron still hates that word. 

He shrugs and stares down at his dirty trainers. There's a clock on the wall, ticking softly to mark out the seconds. He matches his breath to it, inhaling for six ticks and exhaling for eight. He imagines that Gordon must have told Liv about it. He'd told her about all the rest, hadn't he? Had done everything else within his power to make sure that she knew just what a screw-up she had for a big brother. And even if Gordon hadn't, well, then Liv might still have heard about it in the village. 

“Don't know,” he finally mutters. 

“What would you like her to know?” 

**_“Nothing.”_**

The force of his answer takes them both by surprise. Joanie sits back and looks at him with the tiniest of frowns. It's barely more than a wrinkle between her eyes, half-hidden by the glasses, but Aaron still notices. 

“I don't want to talk about Liv anymore,” he says. “Not today.” 

It still seems strange to him that he's allowed to say that. But Joanie insists that he both can and should. That he's the one in charge of their meetings and she's just there to guide him and provide him with any information that he might need. 

“That's your call,” she confirms. 

“I just need to stop,” he repeats, going back to the beginning of their conversation. “There has to be, I don't know, things I haven't tried yet.” 

“You already have a very good action plan in place for when you're feeling upset,” she begins, obviously choosing each word with care. “And when we spoke before your holiday, I got the impression that you were pleased with your progress.” 

“I was. But it's not enough. I can't afford to-” 

He can't afford to be this messed-up, broken version of himself. Not now that he's meant to look after another person. Not when it has his mum worrying herself sick about him. Joanie keeps talking for a few more minutes, trying to draw him out with her stupid questions. Aaron keeps tuning her out and eventually she notices. 

“Let's see what I can find,” she says and walks over to her desk. She rummages through one of the drawers, sorting through a pile of papers before dismissing most of them back to the drawer. Her heels then go _clicker-clack_ against the floor as she returns to her sunlit armchair. 

“Would you like to sit down, Aaron?” she asks and he doesn't, no, but he still joins her by the window, perching on the very edge of the seat. His leg, it jiggles up and down and he traps his hands underneath his thighs to keep them from tearing the papers away from her. 

“If you want to explore options, you might find something in these brochures,” she says, handing them to him. “Maybe you would like to read through them before our next appointment? I'd be interested to hear what you think of them.” 

He folds them up, all careful like, before shoving them into his back pocket. The rest of the session they talk about Chas checking herself back into the hospital. It's somehow easier to talk about that than the whole mess with Liv. Aaron finds himself being honest with Joanie about it, telling her straight out that he's having a hard time handling the guilt. In the end, they go through his action plan again before he leaves. 

After leaving her office, he takes the bus back home. Robert had dropped him off earlier, but he's at a business meeting now. He'd offered to postpone it and stay in the waiting room, but Aaron had sent him off with a hurried kiss and a promise to call if he needed him. 

In the bus, Aaron finds a seat near the back and sits down to read through the pamphlets. After reading the first one he sorta understands why Joanie hasn't given them to him before now. They're not really meant for blokes at all, he feels, but just go on and on about the benefits of keeping a diary or running yourself a nice, hot bath. _I thought it was only girls that cut themselves,_ echoes through Aaron's mind but he manages to push aside the memory. Replaces it with memories of Robert's wicked hands and talented mouth, the scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth. 

For lack of anything better to do, Aaron keeps reading. He's just about to give up when he sees it. It's at the very bottom of the fifth page. _Snap your wrist with a rubber band._

Aaron looks down at his wrist, rubbing thoughtfully with his thumb against the thin skin as he considers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unnecessary knowledge, but Aaron's counselor bases her methods (loosely) on motivational interviewing which, according to some studies, works quite well when it comes to dealing with self-harm. What else did I want to say? Oh, yeah, the next few installments will be tied together.
> 
> Also, if you like the story, please don't hesitate to leave kudos or a comment. It makes me very happy.
> 
> Happy Friday!


	10. July 2016

Not long after, Aaron finds a bag of rubber bands in a drawer in the portacabin.

He has to fold his thumb into the palm of his hand to get it over his wrist. Probably works better for girls, he thinks sourly. Smaller wrists and all that. It feels more than a little bit silly and he can't imagine how he'd explain it if Adam were to walk in through the door. Even so, he works his finger in-between his skin and the rubber band. Lifts it up a few inches before letting it snap down against his skin. 

It stings, there's no denying that, but the pain doesn't last long. Frowning, Aaron snaps it again. Then again. On the fourth go, the rubber band snaps. The pieces go flying through the air, disappearing amongst the paperwork. 

“Good job, idiot,” he congratulates himself. 

Inspecting his skin he finds it red and warm to the touch. That should fade soon enough, he imagines. It doesn't really seem like something which would leave behind any kind of mark. Which, yeah, he can see the advantages. Still, it won't do for it to keep breaking on him. 

The plastic bag rustles as he digs through it for a thicker rubber band. He finally settles for a red one, an inch or so wide, and pulls it over his hand. It rests snuggly against the skin, well-hidden underneath the sleeve. For the first hour or so, Aaron remains hyperaware of its presence. But it doesn't take long before the tight squeeze begins to feel like a comfort. Like a solution, just waiting for the moment when he'll need it. 

And if it also reminds him a bit of a time when the familiar weight of a razor or lighter in his pocket had been a comfort to him, well, then Aaron just doesn't allow himself to dwell too much on that. 

xxx 

Later in the week, the police come asking about some CCTV footage. It turns out that Aaron's idiot of a boyfriend has managed to get himself caught on camera withdrawing the money which he'd later used to bribe Ryan. Robert lies through his teeth, of course, and Aaron clings to the hope that he'll get away with it. He even takes a bleak kind of comfort in the knowledge that Robert's gotten away with far worse in the past. 

And then, as if all that's not bad enough, Aaron stupidly talks himself into thinking that Robert might actually want to move in with him. The rejection's enough to send him spiraling but he does what he's supposed to do and reaches out to someone on his list. Not so long ago, it would have seemed impossible but it gets slightly easier each time. Adam listens, even though he's meant to meet Victoria for dinner, and it somehow makes it all easier to bear. 

But, just as Aaron has managed to talk himself down, deciding to take out his frustrations on a knackered old car instead of on himself, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The message has him rushing out to Home Farm where he finds Sam. The man's wearing a helmet and hiding in the bushes while Chrissie's dad stumbles around with a loaded gun, rambling and shooting at stuffed toys. Patience fraying, Aaron sends Sam away and handles it himself, disarming the older man and herding him back into the house. 

“I won't be able to show my face again,” Lawrence slurs, clutching his whiskey glass to his chest. It's strange to see the man so disheveled and, prompted by what can only be Jackson's spirit, Aaron dredges up the strength to address him. 

“You know, I used to feel like that,” he says. “The truth is, only one person needs to accept who you are.” 

“I'm not anything. I'm _me_ ,” Lawrence replies, his voice dripping with bitterness. “If I wanted to be labeled and judged I would have lived a completely different life.” 

“You might have been happier,” Aaron suggests. 

At that, Lawrence scoffs, turning around in the sofa. His face looks gray and miserable. 

“What?” he sneers. “Like you are?” 

“Yeah, I am,” Aaron says, thinking of Robert and Ed and Jackson. They'd all made an impact on his life, in different but undeniable ways. “I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not anymore.” 

“Oh right. That would be why your body's all scarred and mutilated. Yeah, I know all about that. You love yourself so much that you cut yourself to shreds.” 

Because, yeah, _of course_ the old man knows about that. After all, half the village does. Forcing down the rush of shame and anger, Aaron fingers the rubber band around his wrist, grits his teeth and powers through the rest of their conversation. Later, he locks himself in his car and just breathes. Thinks about the action plan. The list of people that he's meant to reach out to, even if it's just to talk about nothing or share a pint in silence. 

Only, well, Robert's made it clear that he doesn't want to spend any time with him. Adam, well, he's already spent half the day listening to Aaron's moaning. His mum's obviously out of the question. Aaron thinks, with a pang of longing mingled with regret, of Paddy. There are other options, of course. Helplines and the like. He has the numbers, but he's never called. Can't imagine what he'd say. Can't imagine what they'd say that would make any difference. 

Aaron's fingers find their way to the rubber band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Aaron and Lawrence is obviously straight from the show.


	11. July 2016

It doesn't take long for Robert to notice.

“What's this then?” he says, curling his fingers around Aaron's wrist. “A new fashion accessory?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees. “You know me. All about the latest fashion.” 

Robert snorts, lips quirking into a smile. His eyes don't leave Aaron's wrist though as his fingertips push curiously against the rubber band. It's easy to see the exact moment that he figures it out. His lips thin and his fingers turn rough and insistent. He turns Aaron's wrist around so that the palm faces upwards and, well, there's no hiding the bruised skin. Aaron bites the inside of his mouth but, even so, there's no hiding the pain either as Robert brushes his thumb against the blotches of blue and green. 

“Aaron,” Robert says. And there's _so much_ in his voice, only what Aaron hears the keenest is the disappointment. That and the frustration. 

“It's not what you think,” he stammers. 

“Do I look stupid enough to believe that?” Robert asks, his voice thin and upset. 

Acting on old instinct, Aaron braces himself. _Literally a failure at everything_ , runs through his head. _You're tapped. You're a basket-case._ He uses the words, Robert's words, from a long time ago, like he would a razor and the pain grounds him. Keeps him from running and readies for whatever might happen next. Only... Robert doesn't say anything. He just sits there, looking impossibly small for his six feet frame. 

“I don't think you're stupid,” Aaron ventures after a few moments of silence. When Robert still doesn't reply, he hesitantly continues; “But I'm not hurting myself. Or... well, I guess I am, but it's different this time. The counselor suggested it.” 

At that Robert stirs, lifting his eyes to give Aaron an incredulous look. 

“She what now?” 

“She gave me this pamphlet,” Aaron explains. “It listed these things to try when you feel upset. Daft things, mostly. But I thought, well, I might as well try something, right?” 

It feels silly to talk about it -- it's just a dumb bruise, nothing serious -- but he has to try and make Robert see that it _is_ different this time. That Aaron's just trying to get better. 

“It might not work,” he adds, “but it doesn't hurt to try, does it?” 

Robert makes a sharp noise. 

“Really?” he says, arching his eyebrow. “Because I hate to disagree with you, Aaron, but _this_ , this sorta looks like it hurts.” 

With the bruise blossoming over his skin, it's hard to deny. 

“Maybe,” Aaron mutters. “Safer though, innit?” 

At his words, Aaron imagines that they both think of the dumb stuff that Aaron's pulled over the years. All those times that he messed up and let things go too far. So, well, he supposes that he shouldn't be surprised when Robert pushes to his feet and leaves the room. He does his best to stay calm -- Robert will be back, of course he will -- but even so, it's not long before Aarons finds himself playing with the rubber band again. He doesn't snap it, but just digs his fingers underneath it, pressing into the deep bruises and breathing shallowly. When he hears the stairs creak again, he pulls his fingers away, tugs down his sleeve and straightens his back. 

Robert comes through the door carrying two steaming mugs of tea. Aaron's milky, sweet and hot, just the way that he likes it. He takes a big gulp and feels the warmth soothe him. 

“You'll burn your tongue,” Robert warns. “Well, unless that's the point.” 

Aaron inhales some of his tea. He wheezes and gasps for air while Robert plucks the cup from his hands. 

“I'm not that sad, am I?” he asks when he can finally speak again, only to scowl as Robert just shrugs. “Yeah, well, if I wanted to punish myself with _tea_ , I'd just drink it black, now wouldn't I?” 

At that, Robert finally gives in, smirking a bit. They sit in silence then, listening to the muffled din of the pub and the muted voices from the telly. He should go downstairs, Aaron thinks. Make sure that Liv's done her homework and then send her off to bed. But instead he stays sitting next to Robert, inching his knee closer until they're touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all having a wonderful third Sunday of Advent! 
> 
> (And if you're not, well, then take care of yourself <3)


	12. july 2016

The bacon hisses and spits as it hits the pan. Robert keeps a careful eye on the rashers as he cracks the eggs into a second pan. Aaron, he's learned, doesn't like his bacon too crispy. The toaster's broken – something to do with Liv and some half-mad plan to cook frozen pizza – but Robert has set the oven to grill, the way that his mother used to back when he was a little boy. As he cracks the oven door open to check on the toast, heat slams against him and he dances away, cursing under his breath.

It's not that he's in a foul mood but he's not slept well either, laying awake for hours while listening to Aaron's snuffling breaths and worrying about the newest development in his boyfriend's seemingly never-ending struggle with self-harm. 

“If you want breakfast, then you better set the table,” he calls over his shoulders, managing to return his attention to the pans just in time to flip the bacon and stir the scrambled eggs. He's not all that convinced that he's actually been heard over the racket of the telly, but before he can work himself into a state about it Aaron ducks into the kitchen. 

“You bellowed,” he says, looking unfairly attractive in nothing but a tight-fitting top and loose tracksuit bottoms. Robert gives him the benefit of the doubt as the man inches closer. But the moment that Aaron's hand shoots out to steal a piece of bacon, he slaps the spatula against Aaron's firm behind. 

The sound's loud enough that he half-regrets it – the last thing they need is for Liv to come investigating – but Aaron's outraged face sorta makes it worth it. 

“You want breakfast,” Robert says mildly, “you set the table.” 

“That's dead wrong, that is,” Aaron grumbles and Robert imagines that he means the combination of being smacking with a spatula, denied a chance to steal bacon and forced to set the table. Reaching out he wraps his hand around Aaron's wrist – mindful of the ugly bruise hidden underneath the sleeve – and draws him close, kissing away the beginning of a pout. 

“Do the two of you have to be so gross?” a familiar voice complains and Robert sighs. Liv has her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth's all twisted up in disgust. Robert rolls his eyes at Aaron before returning his attention to the pans. 

“You should have seen the stuff that Chas and Paddy got up to in front of me back when they were together,” Aaron says, reaching for the plates. “Now _that_ was disgusting.” 

Despite his claim, he sounds almost cheerful. It makes for a strange contrast to the pale-faced, stammering Aaron of yesterday and serves as a harsh reminder of just how good the young man has become at hiding the troubled parts of himself. 

“I'd rather not imagine Paddy getting up to anything with anyone,” Robert says loudly, rather pleased with the way that Liv punctuates his sentence with a gagging sound. As she escapes back to the sofa, Robert reaches out to catch hold of his boyfriend again. 

“We need to talk about yesterday,” he says. “Alright?” 

Aaron makes a face at him, but Robert refuses to back down. Sure, he already took away the rubber band last night, hating the sight of it digging into Aaron's swollen, discolored skin, but for all that he knows another one might already have taken its place. 

“I can't help you if you don't talk to me,” he insists. 

“Yeah, alright,” Aaron sighs, sounding like he just agreed to an appointment with the dentist. “Not here, though. We'll go for a ride after Liv's gone to see Gabby, yeah?” 

“It's a date,” Robert replies, wishing he felt half as confident as he manages to make himself sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. It's been a very hectic Monday.
> 
> Better late than never though, right...? :)


	13. july 2016

Robert drives while Aaron fiddles with the radio and picks at his fingers. The silence between them isn't uncomfortable as much as it's just heavy with everything that's yet to be said.

“You said that you wanted to talk,” Aaron says as Robert pulls up next to the barn. _Their_ barn. “You know that we can do this sort of stuff indoors now, right? Unless you have a weird farm kink which you haven't told me about yet.” 

“I'm saving the weird farm sex talk until _after_ our six month anniversary,” Robert assures him, taking comfort in the way that Aaron's lips twitch. Their shoulders brush as Aaron goes to heave the barn door open and Robert tells himself that no matter how this conversation goes, they'll still be alright in the end. 

The two of them, they're meant to be. 

The air in the barn's warm and sweet with the scent of hay. Something small and furry scuttles along the ground and a couple of flies buzz near the ceiling. Straw rustles under their shoes as they cross the floor, Robert opting to sit down on a bale of hay while Aaron keeps standing. 

“I'm not gonna have a go at you,” Robert tells him, noting the way that Aaron keeps glancing at the door. “You may as well sit down. Make yourself comfortable.” 

It's the wrong thing to say and Aaron scowls at him. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to sit. How long is this gonna take anyway? I already told you that I'm not hurting myself. Not in any way that counts, anyway.” 

This time, it's Robert who can't keep his emotions from showing. He struggles to, he really does, but he can still feel the disbelief pulling at his eyes and mouth. 

“I'm the first to admit that I'm not an expert,” he says, “but I'm pretty sure that _all ways_ count. I mean, you go to counseling to stop hurting yourself, don't you? Not to find new ways of doing it.” 

_Because you've already shown yourself to be much too inventive when it comes to that,_ he adds quietly, biting down on his lip to keep from saying too much. Only, from the way that Aaron turns away from him, Robert figures that he might have ruined it all the same. 

Maybe he should have just stayed quiet. Maybe he should have- 

“Well, you're right about one thing, at least,” Aaron mutters, not meeting Robert's eyes. “You're no expert.” 

“No, but you are, aren't you?” Robert says, desperate to make a connection. “So tell me all about it. You know I'll listen. You know I care. Just don't shut me out because I can't stand that. Look at yourself, Aaron. You're black and blue and I... I didn't even know that you were struggling again. I let you down and I didn't even _know_.” 

It hurts to admit and the hurt, it sneaks into his voice, causing it to crack and waver. It's Aaron's fault, he thinks as he blinks away angry tears. Aaron's fault for making Robert fall in love with him and Aaron's fault for demanding honesty from him and Aaron's damned fault for making him feel so helpless. Robert can't hear anything but the echoes of his own admission of failure and he startles as fingers brush against his arm. 

“It's not on you,” Aaron tells him, his voice near enough to make Robert jump. “Christ, Rob, you can't think like that, alright?” 

It's the voice that Aaron uses with his mum and his little sister, the one that's gentle and almost sweet. Robert finds himself dragged into a hug, one of the rare ones which he's not initiated himself, and Aaron's arms feel strong around him. The horrible feeling of failure – the one that's been chasing after Robert like a slobbering, rabid dog for as long as he can remember – disappears as he breathes in the scent of cheap soap from Aaron's warm neck. 

“I want to be there for you when you're struggling,” he murmurs into the fabric of Aaron's hoodie. “I don't want you to fight this alone.” 

Aaron huffs a sigh, his arms tightening around Robert's ribs. 

“I'm not alone, you idiot,” he says, still using that same gentle voice, like he thinks that, out of the two of them, Robert's the one who's stupidly fragile. “You've told me that yourself enough times, haven't you? And if I'm shutting you out, well, it's just 'cause I don't know how to talk about this stuff, alright?” 

Robert doesn't trust his voice anymore so he just nods, rubbing his face against Aaron's shoulder. They stand like that for a while and he thinks back to that horrible day in the park, the day when Aaron had split his knuckles open against a tree and Robert had held his boyfriend for what seemed like forever while people passed by and the sky turned gray above them. 

“You said that your counselor gave you some pamphlets,” Robert finally says, clearing his throat to make sure that the words come out steady. “Maybe we could take a look at them together? Find you some alternatives which work better.” 

Aaron's snorted laughter takes him utterly by surprise. 

“What?” Robert asks, pulling back to give his boyfriend a confused look. The way that Aaron stares back at him makes him blush and he rubs an arm over his eyes before straightening out his clothes. 

“Nothing,” Aaron says. “I just foresee you running me a lot of hot baths in the future.” 

And with that mysterious comment, he presses his lips against the corner of Robert's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Robert <3


	14. august 2016

Robert wakes in the middle of the night.

Fragments of a dream linger just out of his reach. His skin feels tight and sensitive and he lets out a miserable groan as he realizes that he's half-hard, dick pushing against the constraint of his boxers. Sex dreams hadn't been much fun back when he'd been a teenager, but it's even worse now that he's well past thirty. Although he supposes that he should be grateful that at least he's woken up in time to keep from embarrassing himself. 

It takes a few attempts but Robert eventually manages to kick off the duvet. The air's so cool that his skin immediately tightens into goosebumps and, within a few heartbeats, he goes from flushed with heat to shivering with cold. It's nearly as efficient as a cold shower and just as awful. 

“Alright?” Aaron asks, his voice rough and close. 

“Just feeling hot,” Robert lies. He twists so that he faces his boyfriend and, realizing that Aaron's wide awake, he props himself up on one elbow. “I didn't wake you, did I?” 

He does sometimes, kicking and fidgeting in his sleep. Like a dog dreaming of fat rabbits and open fields, his dad used to say. Although Aaron tends to be far less poetic about it. 

”Nah,” comes the gruff denial. “I was already awake.” 

Light trickles in from underneath the door and through the curtains. Robert uses that to his advantage and takes a moment to study his boyfriend. Aaron looks fine, he really does, but Robert still can't forget all those nights when he hadn't been. Those nights when Aaron had lurched from their bed, t-shirt clinging to his back and his hair damp and curly around his ears. Those nights when Aaron had sat on the edge of the bed, chest heaving and shoulders hunched while Robert talked himself hoarse. Those nights which all seemed to end with Aaron greeting the morning like a zombie, black smudges under his eyes and self-inflicted bite marks blossoming on his arms like red and purple flowers. 

“Something wrong?” Robert asks, just to be on the safe side. “Bad dream?” 

“Nah,” Aaron tells him, his voice softening as if he can hear Robert's mind starting to whir and tick. “Just thinking about Liv and Lachlan. I don't want him anywhere near her.” 

“She'll be fine,” Robert says, even though he shares his boyfriend's concerns. “And anyway, if that little creep tries something, well, Liv can defend herself.” 

As he'd hoped, Aaron huffs a laughter at that. Then he turns and curls up on his side so that they're face to face. His hand finds its way to Robert's boxer-clad hip. It's cold and Robert shivers at the touch even as he wants _more_. Fragments from his dream return to haunt him and he wriggles uncomfortably. It hits him that he knows every callous on Aaron's hand, that he's felt the width and length of each finger and lapped the palm clean with his tongue. The realization leaves Robert breathless and he stares at Aaron's face with hungry eyes. He _wants_ and _wants_ and _wants_ , but can't tell if it'd be wrong to ask. (Tries to convince himself that he's still made progress. Not so long ago, it wouldn't even have occurred to him to wonder.) 

“Well, I suppose since we're both awake,” Aaron says and Robert could cry with relief as the words free him to move. As he crawls on top of his boyfriend, Aaron's hands come up to support him, and when Robert leans down for a kiss, those hands tighten their grip. Robert nibbles on the thin skin stretched over Aaron's collarbone in retaliation. Leaves his mark there, flushing warm with the knowledge that come morning, Aaron will be pressing his fingers into those marks. Will touch them, throughout the day, and think of _Robert_. 

Pressing one last kiss against saliva-damp skin, Robert sits up. 

He rests most of his weight on his knees, his behind pressing against Aaron's crotch as he ghosts his hands down Aaron's arms. Robert knows these arms – the bulge of his boyfriend's biceps, the soft skin on the inside of his elbows, the scattered lines of raised scar tissue – but still doesn't rush, instead taking pleasure in traveling across such well-known landscape. Eventually he reaches Aaron's wrists and he wraps his fingers around them. 

“Okay?” he asks, squeezing gently. Taking Aaron's murmur of impatience as a yes, Robert maneuvers their arms upward so that Aaron ends up laying with his arms pinned above his head. It's a dangerously good look on him, especially with his hair ruffled and his face soft and sleepy. 

“You look amazing,” he tells Aaron, just for the wicked pleasure of feeling the younger man squirm underneath him. Grinning, he then adds: “You know, if Charity had ever put up web-cams in here, the videos would have gone viral.” 

Aaron makes a noise, half-amused and half-disgusted. 

“All sorts of deviants out there,” he agrees. 

“All sorts of deviants _in here_ ,” Robert counters. 

And then he grinds down against his boyfriend to prove it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, all sorts of deviants on the internet ;-) 
> 
> I meant to mention this before, but if you want to read a bonus story exploring my headcanon for Aaron and his self-harm, I suggest reading: [a thousand and one ways](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8572111). Just make sure to check the warnings first.
> 
> Happy reading!


	15. september 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding warnings for each chapter, but just in case you missed it, this chapter will feature violence and bullying.

She's walking home, her eyes glued to the screen of her phone.

Gabby keeps sending her photos of different kind of shoes, all of them expensive and all of them ugly as hell. In between the photos she asks questions, followed by long rows of question marks. It's as if she expects Liv to have actual opinions about, like, the lengths of the heels or the perfect amount of glitter. Liv's texting her back, tapping her fingertips harder than necessary against the screen, when someone steps out in front of her. And yeah, sure, Liv takes an immediate step backward but it's not because she's scared. It's just that she's been in enough dodgy situations to know that she's best off staying out of her opponent's reach. 

Recognizing Lachlan, she scowls and shoves her phone into her pocket. 

“What do you want?” she snaps, her voice loud enough to carry. Loud enough to draw attention too and yeah, that's another thing that she's learned the hard way. Liv hates getting stared at as much as the next half-reasonable person but there are times when nosy adults come in dead handy. 

“Nothing that you could give me,” Lachlan sneers at her. “ _Charity case._ ” 

Liv's been bracing herself for those words ever since she recognized his pinched little rat-face, but now she finds that they don't carry much power anymore. Aaron's promise that she belongs -- here, with her big brother -- has made sure of that. 

“Aaron's right,” she says, smirking at the older boy. “You're a right moppet, you are.” 

It's clear that he doesn't expect her to talk back. Of course, he doesn't. He's just another stupid bully. And bullies, they don't pick on people who they expect to fight back. Liv's smirk grows and she stands up taller. Watches as Lachlan tries to find a come-back, suddenly feeling certain that there's nothing that he could say that would hurt her. 

“Well, everyone knows that your brother's a cut-up freak show,” Lachlan finally settles on hissing at her, his voice so angry that it's shaking. “Guess no one ever told him that it's down the road and not across the street!” 

Liv moves even before she's fully untangled the meaning of the words. Her hands hurt from how hard she slams them against Lachlan's bony rib cage. Bet he wasn't expecting this either, she thinks furiously. Not from her, and maybe not from any other girl. Perhaps, where he's from, girls just slap and scratch. Perhaps they do nothing at all. But that's not her, Liv thinks, snarling as Lachlan tumbles backward. As he falls hard on his arse and looks up at her with wet and scared eyes. 

She backs away, keeping a wary eye on him. 

“I'll tell,” Lachlan says, his lips trembling. “I'll tell on you.” 

As if Liv cares. She's done far worse than knock over some stupid posh kid with a big gob. 

Only, then she realizes that she _does_ care. Because Aaron and the rest, they'll ask her why, won't they, and she doesn't want to tell them. Doesn't want to see the look on her brother's face if he ever finds out just what kind of rubbish Lachlan's been saying about him. Staring at Lachlan, Liv stretches her lips into something that no one could mistake for a smile. 

“You gonna tell everyone that a little girl beat you up?” she asks, her voice low and sweet. “Go ahead, _weirdo_. Give them all another reason to laugh at you behind your back.” 

Then she circles around him, fingers squeezing the keys in her pocket as she walks away. She can feel him staring and the hairs on her neck rise, but she still doesn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I love Liv? Because I do. Tomorrow, we get Robert and Liv. 
> 
> Once again, thanks for the comments and kudos <3


	16. september 2016

Lachlan doesn't tell on her.

Or, well, at least that's what Liv assumes when the coppers never come knocking on the door. She counts herself lucky – hah! – and does her best to forget all about it. It's hard though because she keeps catching Aaron obsessively tugging down his sleeves and picking at the already raw skin around his fingers. She keeps having the same old dream, the one where Gordon dangles from the ceiling, his tongue lolling as he hisses at her that she's just as bad as her brother. 

A few days later she catches Lachlan in the village with his mum, his mouth still swollen and his arms wrapped around his ribs. She finds herself hoping that they still hurt. That she's left behind enough ugly bruises to remind him to keep his gob shut in the future. Their eyes meet and she sneers at him. Lachlan must feel safe, standing there hidden behind his mummy, because he sneers right back. Then he makes a gesture with his hand, something rude Liv thinks at first, but then it slowly dawns on her just what he's playing at... That little sicko's pretending to be slashing at his own arm. 

“Here you go,” Robert says, “one cup of instant diabetes.” 

He's brought her caramel-flavored coffee because, yeah, that's why they're here, innit? Going out for coffee when Chas gets too loud or Aaron too grumpy has sort of become this thing that they do together. Liv doesn't reach for her cup, though. Her eyes, they're locked on Lachlan. 

He's over by the counter still, but now he's stuck his hands back into his pockets. He looks all innocent and Liv, she wants to go over there and pour her coffee over his stupid head. She wants to knee him in the balls and watch him turn all green and sweaty. She wants to put on Gabby's expensive combat boots – the ones with yards and yards of laces – and then stomp on his fingers. She wants to- 

“You alright?” Robert asks, sounding amused. ”You trying to kill someone with your eyes? Cause take it from me, if that worked, I'd have keeled over ages ago.” 

“That little moppet’s just asking for another smack,” Liv growls, barely recognizing her own voice. Then her brain catches up with her mouth and she winces.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

xxx 

“What did he do then?” Robert asks, handing her a bag of crisps. 

It's a bribe, but she still takes it. It's the fancy kind, after all, the one that Aaron's too stingy to buy. Liv rips the bag open, filling her mouth to buy herself some time to think. The way that Robert phrases his question makes for a nice change from how these things normally go. Mostly, people just assume that Liv's the one in the wrong. Munching on the crisps, she feels Robert's eyes on her. Her brother's always claiming that he can actually _hear_ his boyfriend think and Liv reckons that she understands what he means now. 

All of a sudden, she hears Robert swallow hard. He turns pale. 

“He didn't, he didn't _try_ anything with you, did he?” he asks, voice low and urgent. 

The crisps go down the wrong way. Liv coughs and sputters, spraying the table with crumbs. 

“No,” she finally manages. 

“If he did-” 

She absolutely _hates_ the softness in his voice. 

“I punched him in the mouth,” she spits at him. “He was talking rubbish and I lost it and I punched him, alright?” 

Robert exhales slowly. Takes a sip of his americano. Stares down at his hands. 

“What did he say?” 

She narrows her eyes at him. Wipes her mouth with her hand, rolling her eyes as Robert grimaces and pushes a paper serviette across the table. She goes to grab another handful of crisps only to realize that the bag's already empty. Frowning, she picks up the serviette instead. 

“He was being gobby,” she says. “That's all.” 

There's a pen in her pocket and she fishes it out. The ink bleeds into the soft paper but, well, Liv can work with that. Use it to her advantage even. Robert stares at her like he’s trying to burrow his way into her head, but she ignores him as she hunches over her new drawing. 

“He was... gobby. So you battered him?” Robert summarizes. “You know, Liv, when it comes to anger management, you really shouldn't use your big brother as a role model.” 

“Aaron's alright,” Liv says, scowling down at the drawing. She can’t get Lachlan’s nose quite right but solves it by adding a few bold lines, suggesting that it’s been broken. After all, she’d _love_ to break his nose. 

“What was he going on about then?” 

“Doesn't matter.” 

“Must have,” Robert points out, a bit dry. “You wouldn't have lost it otherwise, would you?” 

Liv shrugs and keeps drawing. Her coffee stands untouched. 

“Was it about your dad?” Robert continues because, apparently, no one's ever taught him how to let things go. 

Liv scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. As if she would have defended _him._

“Or about Aaron?” 

She doesn't flinch. Doesn’t freeze. But, sometimes, it's like Robert's a mind reader because he makes a noise – one that's startled and unhappy – and the table creaks as he leans forward, pushing against it with his elbows. 

_“What did he say?”_ he demands. 

Liv bites her lip and shakes her head. She can't repeat it. She just _can't_. And, yeah, Robert’s definitely a mind reader because he sits right back in his chair again. 

“Doesn't matter,” he says. “I can imagine well enough. Nasty little creep.” 

“Don't tell Aaron?” she says, still biting her lip. 

She thinks that, maybe, there's a chance that he won’t. After all, he’s done dodgy things to protect her brother too. Robert doesn’t reply right away, though. He fiddles with his cup, staring over at the door where Lachlan had disappeared with his mum. It hits her that while he might hate the Whites now, he’d once been Lachlan’s step-dad. 

“I won’t do it again,” she lies. 

Robert makes a disbelieving noise. 

“Yeah, you’re even worse of a liar than your brother,” he tells her. “And no, of course, I won’t tell Aaron. It’s the last thing that he needs.” 

Her shoulders sag and, at her next breath, her chest feels less constricted. 

“But,” he adds, and his voice, it’s stern now. Sort of how she always imagined that her dad might sound. “You’re not going near anywhere Lachlan again, understood? Leave him, and the rest of the Whites, to me. If he so much as looks in your direction, you walk away.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You walk away,” he insists. “Or I’ll have Aaron ground you until Christmas.” 

She ducks her head and finishes her drawing. It’s far from her best work, but she still pushes it in front of Robert. He picks it up, tilting his head as he studies it far more carefully than the hurried sketch warrants. His lips twitch and he makes a low, undignified sound. 

“Can I keep it?” he asks and, shocked, she nods. 

He’s not half-bad, she decides later. Not half-bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! If you did (or didn't, for that matter), don't hesitate to leave a comment! It's such a treat to read your thoughts. 
> 
> Happy weekend!


	17. september and october 2016

”Mate, I’m so sorry.”

One moment Adam’s sitting by his mum’s kitchen table, surrounded by towering flower arrangements and an army of covered casseroles, and the next he’s wrapped up in Aaron’s arms. His best mate feels solid against him and Adam hangs on to him like a child to his mum. Strong and warm hands stroke roughly against his back, the way that Aaron had once used to handle that scruffy dog of his. 

Adam’s all out of words and Aaron’s never been much for speaking so, for the longest time, they just cling to each other. Heat prickles behind Adam’s eyes and there’s a thick lump in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He pulls away, needing the air, but Aaron stays close. That’s how they’ve always been, the two of them. Closer than mates, better than brothers. 

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Adam confesses, forcing the words past the lump. “I keep thinking she’s gonna come back any minute, you know?” 

“I don’t even know how you and your mum are coping,” Aaron admits, shaking his head. 

At the misery in his mate’s voice, Adam remembers that Aaron has a sister now. Or, well, of course, he’s always had one, but as he never used to speak of her Adam had thought of his best mate as a single child for years. He’d felt envious even, back when they were teens and Holly and Hannah were driving him mad. The memory of it – of that whole family, a mum and a dad and their three kids – makes him feel queasy now. That horrible, insistent heat prickles behind his eyes again and he reaches out, wrapping his hand around Aaron’s neck and drawing him back in for another hug. It feels, somehow, like the best place to be. 

“I’m just glad that you’re here,” he mutters, resting his head against Aaron’s shoulder. 

xxx 

“Still don’t feel real,” he says, days later, after the funeral. 

He’s come to feel physically ill with the grief, the way that he had after his dad died. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels good. He slumps over the bar, his pint standing untouched. Aaron’s right next to him, looking strange and grown-up in a dark suit, while Vic and Robert bracket them. They’re both wearing floral prints and, any other day, that would be the sort of thing that Adam would use to draw a laugh out of his best mate and a glare from his brother-in-law. 

“I keep kidding myself,” he continues, “that Holly’s just gone back down to London or something. Even as I saw her coffin go in the ground…” 

Vic’s fingers brush against his arm, the feather-light touch a direct contrast to the firm way that Aaron rubs his back. And it’s not that Adam prefers one over the other, it’s that he needs both. Needs them both. They keep him going, these two strange and amazing people. 

“It’s okay,” Aaron tells him. 

“It’s not, though, is it, bro?” he objects. “How many more people am I going to lose?” 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron promises, offering him a small smile. “Believe me.” 

xxx 

“…a rally-looking car with yellow decals crashed through there!” 

“What?” 

There must be sirens blaring still, but Adam doesn’t hear them as he starts running towards the edge of the cliff. The fog’s too thick to make anything out, yet somehow he already knows. Just like he knows that he has to get down there. He slips and slides over loose rocks and slick mud, barely making out what’s right in front of him. Branches slap against his arms and his face, but he doesn’t register the pain. As soon as he reaches the sandy ground, he tears off his jacket and then… then he’s in the water. 

It’s cold. So bloody cold that, for a moment, it’s like he can’t breathe. But he has to, there’s no other choice, so Adam takes one breath and then another and then he fills his lungs before ducking under the surface. It’s dark down there and his lungs soon ache for lack of oxygen. Finally, he makes out the air bubbles rising to the surface and then, _there_ , the car. Adam knows that car. Knows the two shapes trapped in it. 

His burning lungs force him back up to the surface. He breathes – once, twice, three times – and then he dives back down again. Adam heads straight for the car this time only to find that the other two men have already made their way out. They’re heading up to the surface and Adam follows. Up there, he finds two heads, one fair and one dark, bobbing in the water and he swims towards them. 

“Aaron,” he calls but there’s no answer, just Vic’s voice from the shore as she calls for her brother. 

Adam reaches the two men. Checks on his best mate first – eyes closed, face slack, body still – before turning to his brother-in-law. He barely recognizes the man, Robert’s face so pale and twisted with the effort of holding Aaron afloat. Adam moves automatically, grabbing hold of one of Aaron’s arms and together they tow him back towards land. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Vic demands, her voice young and scared. 

She hates the water. She always has, and with good reason. 

“He was under for about a minute or so,” Robert says, sounding raw. “He swallowed water.” 

Adam stares down at Aaron’s chest. It doesn’t rise. It doesn’t fall. 

It hits him that he’s been here before, years and years ago. Both of them had, back when Aaron had been an angry teen with too many secrets and not enough reasons to live. Only this time, it’s Robert, not Adam, who starts the heart compressions. One moment there’s just their voices, urging Aaron to keep fighting. Then Aaron’s suddenly rolled up on his side, retching up lake water. 

xxx 

“Promise me you’ll be alright, bro,” he begs in the ambulance. “Please.”

 _I'll do anything,_ he thinks, _just, not him, alright?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That hug between Adam and Aaron after Holly's death was epic, okay? I love these two so much, if I just had the time I would easily write a 10k story which would just be the two of them hanging out, giving each other platonic cuddles and comparing their Sugdens. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you're having a lovely, lazy Saturday! :)


	18. november 2016

It's only Aaron's second day back from the hospital, but already the three of them have something of a routine going. They have tea together, her big brother picking at his food while Robert does his best to look like he's not fretting. Liv keeps an eye on them, helping herself to her brother's rejected chips and discreetly kicking Robert under the table when he starts doing Aaron's head in with his nagging.

She doesn't understand how the two of them ever managed before she became a part of their lives. After she's done with her tea, Liv clears the table, busying herself with stacking the dirty dishes in the sink while Aaron hobbles over to the sofa and Robert continues pretending like he's not the world's biggest mother hen. In a way, it's sorta amusing to watch – far better than YouTube videos of grumpy kittens or sleeping baby donkeys – but it's also clear that it's something which needs supervising. 

Luckily, Liv has the perfect excuse and even earns herself a nod of approval from Robert as she spreads out her homework all over the kitchen table. The numbers on the papers don't mean much to her – math's never been Liv's thing and ever since the accident, she's found it harder than ever to focus in school – and she mostly just chews on her pencil and studies the two men in the sofa. 

Her brother lays propped up on a mountain of pillows, blinking at the telly and chewing on his fingers. Robert sits next to him, tapping away on his laptop. Catching up with work, he claims, but he must be having problems focusing too because his eyes keep straying from the screen. Keeps landing on Liv's brother, Robert's lips turning down in the corners and his giant forehead knitting together in a scowl. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, for the umpteenth time in just the last hour and Aaron growls at him, slapping at Robert's hand as he tries to tuck in the blanket around Aaron's feet. Liv reckons that her brother ought to be happy that he's just covered with the _one_ blanket today. Yesterday, Robert had kept piling on the blankets until Aaron's face had turned all red and sweaty and Liv had started to worry that her brother might over-heat like a puppy left behind in a car. 

Liv had rescued her brother then, distracting Robert by asking him to give her a hand with her homework. Watching the two of the quibble, she figures that she might just as well do the same again. Aaron needed to rest, the doctors had been clear about that, and he won't be doing that with Robert fawning all over him, will he? Besides, there's no way that Liv's gonna be able to make any sense out of her homework by herself. 

“Oi,” she says, pitching her voice loud enough to carry, “don't suppose you're any good at algebra?” 

xxx 

After the homework's done, Liv sits down with a piece of toast and a cup of tea while she continues watching her brother and Robert. It's getting late and, if today turns out to be a repeat of yesterday, she figures that it's for the best if she stays close. They might need her. 

“C'mon,” Robert says. “Let's get you upstairs, eh?” 

Aaron grimaces but swings his legs over the edge of the sofa. He sits slowly, moving like an old man. As he straightens his back, his breathing stutters and his eyes squeeze shut as he presses a hand against his belly. Liv tears her eyes away from him then, knowing that her brother won't want her staring at him. 

“Did you take,” Robert begins only for Aaron to interrupt him. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “After yesterday, I'm not likely to forget again, am I?” 

Yesterday, Aaron had skipped his evening dose of painkillers. It had taken both Chas and Robert, working together, to get him up the stairs. Liv had fetched her brother a tall glass of water and a prescription bottle from the bathroom. Then she'd watched him throw back two pills and spill half the water on the duvet before Chas ushered her away from the room. 

“Ready?” Robert asks now. 

“No,” Aaron gripes, even as he holds out his hand and allows Robert to pull him to his feet. The two of them sway together, Robert's arms wrapped around her brother and Aaron resting his forehead against Robert's shoulder. It looks intimate and Liv looks away, poking dubiously at her half-eaten piece of toast. 

“Liv,” she hears after a moment and as she raises her head, she finds her brother looking straight at her. “Off to bed with you, alright? It's a school night.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.” 

She expects him to leave it at that but instead Aaron untangles himself from Robert and holds out an arm. The meaning's clear enough and Liv doesn't think twice about it. She just hurries over to her big brother and pushes herself into the warm circle of his arms. He smells like himself again, none of those strange hospital smells clinging to his skin. He feels solid too, all strong muscle wrapped over a sturdy frame. But even so, she's careful as she clings to him. She's seen the bruises, the ones left behind from the seat belt and the steering wheel. Knows that there's a scar from the operation and that his leg's still swollen and less than steady underneath him. 

It's not just that, though. It's the old damage too. 

It's a whole lot harder to ignore now that she's seen the scars properly. They're all over his arms, red and ugly. Some nothing more than thin lines, while others had looked like shiny blotches. She's seen the ones on his chest and belly too, catching a quick glimpse while Aaron struggled to get dressed one morning. Part of her desperately wants to ask him about it. Wants to hear him assure her that it's all in the past and that he'll never do anything like it again. But she's scared of hurting him with her questions. Scared, too, that he might not be able to tell her what she wants to hear. 

“You alright?” Aaron asks, his arm tightening around her as she tries to wriggle out of the hug. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Good night.” 

“Night, Liv,” they reply. 

xxx 

“It's strange,” she hears him say later. 

They're in their own room now, him and Robert, and Liv's all tucked up in her bed. The walls at the pub might as well be made out of paper for all the privacy that they offer and, normally, this would be when Liv turns up her music. Only, tonight, she hesitates. Her brother had been slurring his words, both downstairs while they said good night and just now, while talking to Robert. His voice had sounded just like Liv's mum's did on a bad day, all soft and muddled with drugs. 

Whenever Sandra got like that in the past, Liv had always known that it was up to her to take care of her mum. To sit with her on the sofa and bring her biscuits and listen to her as she rambled and cried. And, yeah, Liv knows that her big brother doesn't need her like that. He's told her, more than once, that it doesn't work like that between them. That he's the one meant to be looking after her. But he needs _someone_ , doesn't he? Needs Robert, she reckons, only what if Robert doesn't know what to do? What if he's never had to deal with someone who's been made all soft and useless by pills? 

“What's strange?” Robert asks, his voice fond and indulgent. 

“That I've never been scared of dying before but, in that car, with you, I was bricking it. I really... I really didn't want to die, Rob.” 

At her brother's words, Liv freezes, her eyes darting to the wall separating the two rooms. Her fingers clench around the headphones and she holds her breath, afraid that she'll miss his next words. 

“I know,” comes the answer and even though Liv doesn't recognize Robert's voice – it's just too raw and genuine – there's no one else's that it _could_ be. “I remember.” 

“I wanted to live,” Aaron continues, not acknowledging Robert's words. If he's anything like Sandra, he might not even have registered them. Might be all lost inside his own head. “I wanted to have a future, with you and Liv.” 

“That's a good thing, innit?” 

“Yeah, I guess. It's just, I didn't know that I could feel that way. I sorta figured that he'd fucked that out of me.” 

Liv hears Robert's voice but she can't make out the words. Not over the sudden buzzing in her ears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drags the duvet up over her shoulders and hides her head under the pillow. It's something that she's always done, a way to create a space for herself in a busy, changing world. She's not aware that she's crying until she can taste the salt on her lips and even then it doesn't make any sense. 

This thing in her chest – this ugly, beaked beast with claws and black feathers – it's not sadness, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a bit rough. I really wanted to find the time to edit it today but I've just been way too busy :( 
> 
> Happy fourth of Advent and thanks for reading!


	19. december 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Liv gets drunk with Gabby but before she pushes Jacob.

“You've gotta stop earwigging on people,” Chas tells her, tugging at Liv's pony-tail. “You do know that you'll never hear anything good about yourself that way, don't you?”

Aaron's mum doesn't sound angry and her hand in Liv's hair doesn't hurt, but Liv shifts out of reach all the same. It's not like she's even properly eavesdropping this time. She's just sitting down by the bar to have a quick snack. It's not Liv's fault if Robert's voice carries or if she happens to have a perfect view of her brother's face.

“How else am I gonna find out about anything?” she demands.

It's hard to tell with all the make-up, but she thinks that maybe Chas' face softens a bit.

“Love,” she says, “you don't _need_ to know everything.”

Only, Chas couldn't be more wrong. Liv does need to know everything. She has to keep track of her brother and Robert, the same way that she used to keep track of her mum.

How else can she keep everything from falling apart?

xxx

“So, are we gonna talk about this?”

Robert's speaking in his softest voice, the one that he only ever uses when he thinks that Aaron needs _handling_. Hearing him speak like that makes Liv sit up straight and pay attention, like she's one of them dogs in that bell experiment.

Her brother had been just fine over tea. Had sat down afterwards in front of the telly with Robert, the two of them bickering about what to watch. They'd finally settled for some old James Bond movie, Aaron rolling his eyes each time that Robert mouthed the lines along with the actors. Liv had left the two of them like that, her brother bleary-eyed and yawning and Robert offering to make him a cup of tea before they went to bed.

Things had been good then. And now, somehow, they'd gone and messed that up in the time that it had taken Liv to brush her teeth and change her clothes. That had to be some sort of new record, she thought grimly, even for those two knuckleheads.

“Wasn't planning on it, no,” her brother mutters, barely audible through the wall. “It's all sorted now, innit?"

“Is it? Because I really think that she should see someone.”

“See someone?” Aaron echoes, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Like you do. A counselor.”

Liv catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she tries to work out just who it is that they're talking about. She quickly dismisses Chas (who's already seeing a counselor), then Vic and Diane (who doesn't need to see one). But she keeps trying, wanting to find another explanation, even though-

“Liv's not _broken_.”

-she already knows who Robert means.

It's hard to put names to all the emotions that make Liv's throat feel tight and her eyes sting, but she reckons that at least one of them goes by betrayal.

“I never said that she was,” Robert says. The worst part is that he doesn't sound like a traitor, just like his normal, stupid self. “Far from, Aaron. I reckon that she's doing good, far better than earlier. I think she might even have stopped nicking things. Well, either that, or she's gotten a lot better at not getting caught.”

She imagines him smirking and her hands clench into fists.

“But,” Robert continues, “that doesn't mean that she couldn't do with talking to someone. It might help her sort through everything that's happened to her.”

“You mean, how _I_ happened to her.”

Aaron's voice, it's harsh now. Liv ought to hate that about her brother. That awful habit he has of making everything about himself. Only she can tell that he means it, that he fully believes every ugly thing that she's ever overheard him say about himself, and that makes her angry with Gordon instead.

“I assume you're talking about how you gave her a home?” Robert asks, his voice sharper now. “Or about how you made her happiness your number one priority? Because that's what you've done to to that girl, Aaron. The rest of it, that's not on you. Your sister's lucky to have you.”

Liv wraps her arms around herself, holding on hard.

“This wouldn't be a home without her,” her brother eventually says. “I don't know where I'd be without Liv. Without you.”

After that, the two men stay silent for so long that Liv wonders if maybe they're done. If they've given up on words, settling for resolving their differences with their hands and mouths instead. That's happened before, angry words giving way to muffled moans and sheets rustling. She's already reaching for her headphones – her need to _know_ , to keep track of and control what's happening between her brother and his fiancé, it doesn't stretch to listening in on _that_ – when Robert speaks up again.

“When Sandra took your sister and left, Liv didn't just lose a dad, you know. She lost her big brother too. Imagine that, half her family gone and no real explanation. And she hasn't told us much about it, Aaron, but from what she _has_ said it seems like maybe Sandra... struggled.”

Liv swallows thickly. Hugs herself harder.

“You talking about the pills?”

“That, yeah,” Robert agrees. “And moving around all the time. Being uprooted like that, over and over again. It can't have been easy, can it?”

“And then I showed up to taint all her memories of Gordon and ruin any hope that she ever had for getting her dad back. Yeah, she's lucky to have me, alright...”

Her brother will be crying by now. He'll be angrily wiping away his tears with the back of his hand while Robert stands hunched over him, looking worried. Liv's crying too, only she doesn't bother wiping the tears away. Why would she when there's not anyone there to see them?

“Gordon did that,” Robert insists. “ _He_ ruined that, for both of you, the moment that he first laid a hand on you.”

If he's feeling frustrated, if he's getting sick of telling Aaron the same damned thing over and over again without her brother ever truly believing him, well, then at least Liv can't tell from his voice. And for that, she can forgive the man a lot. Maybe, she thinks, maybe even _this_.

“You don't see it that way because Gordon messed with your head,” he continues. “Just like he messed with Liv's head.”

She shivers then, remembering the way that Gordon had turned on her the very moment that she'd gone against him. It had scared her, even as she lashed out at him, finding shelter behind her anger. It had scared her even worse later on. After she finally acknowledged that Aaron had been telling the truth all along and that Gordon could have hurt her too. Could have easily done to her what he'd done to Aaron.

“She's over that,” Aaron says.

He doesn't sound sure though and Liv, still crying and shivering in the darkness of her room, doesn't feel too sure either. Not wanting to hear anymore, she reaches for her headphones, fumbling badly before they're finally in place over her ears. She turns on the music, turning it up loud so that there's no room in her head for any more thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unedited piece. Hopefully tomorrow I'll find myself with more spare time on my hands.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos -- you guys are the best! <3


	20. december 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place straight after Rebecca makes that comment. You know, *that* comment.

That evening, Robert draws him a bath.

The water's warm, steam rising until the mirror fogs up. Aaron watches his reflection go blurry and it's first when the man in the mirror becomes a total stranger that he finally sheds his clothes. Trainers, jeans, the black jumper... they all go in a pile on the floor. He feels Robert's eyes lingering but ignores it, safe in the knowledge that the other man won't touch him. The underwear goes last, pooling around his feet. 

Feeling wretchedly naked – especially with Robert standing behind him, fully dressed – Aaron doesn't waste any time before stepping into the bath. The heat comes as a shock and he hisses as he immerses himself into the water. Bending his knees, he eases back until his chin touches the surface. Despite the hot water, he feels cold. Frozen, even. 

“Talk to me?” Robert asks, kneeling down by the tub. 

Aaron shakes his head, watching the water ripple. 

“Nothing to say,” he lies. “You talk.” 

And, for once, Robert doesn't argue. Instead, he talks and talks and talks and somehow, despite everything, Aaron finds himself listening. Not to the actual words as such as to the rich cadence of his fiancé's voice as Robert spins story after story. His voice rises and falls; here the tilt of mockery, there a hint of sharp annoyance. It's amazing, really, the things that Robert can do with his voice. At first, Aaron just stares down at his lumpy knees, letting the words wash over him. But soon he finds himself turning towards Robert's voice. Finds himself following Robert's hands as they draw shapes in the air. Watching Robert's face, admiring the glitter in his eyes and the curve of his lips. 

The way that Robert sits – back against the laundry basket, one long leg tucked up against his chest and the other stretched out in front of him – can't be comfortable. It's not where he belongs, Robert, not here talking himself hoarse for Aaron's benefit and not sat on the floor with the unforgiving fluorescent light shining down on his head of gold. Aaron can see the lines around his mouth and the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. Can see each blemish on his skin. Each tiny freckle. And he can't help but wonder just what Robert sees when he looks over at the man in the bathtub. 

Eventually, strings of words begin to filter through the fog in Aaron's brain. Not enough for him to follow the plot, but at least he knows that Robert's talking about work. The water eventually goes cold and Robert notices the very moment that Aaron begins to shiver. 

“If you stay in there much longer, you'll turn into a raisin,” he says, interrupting his monologue about the difficulties of finding parking near Liv's school. “How about we finish up in here and then you make an early night out of it? I'll bring you up a cup of tea.” 

Aaron balks at the suggestion. He means to shake his head, means to use his words and say no, but instead he ends up chewing on his fingers. Robert's right, the water has turned his hands into soft and wrinkly things. Aaron barely recognizes them as being his own, which breathes new life into the dormant monsters in his head. His teeth catch on a bit of loose skin and when he tears at it – more viciously than he should, yes, but still without intent – blood floods his mouth. 

“Aaron,” he hears and then Robert tugs at his wrist. 

They both stare at his thumb, at the blood which still wells from the torn flesh, at the tendril of red which finds it's way down Aaron's wrist. He can't meet Robert's eyes. Can't risk seeing disappointment or frustration on his fiancé's face. Can barely even stand listening to the reproving thoughts running through his own head. Because, God, it's been months and months since something like this happened. He's been fine. He's been _happy_ , Robert's ring on his finger, Liv just down the hallway and his mum back to her old self. And now, what, some slapper says a few words about his dad and he goes right back to tearing himself apart. So much for being strong for his sister. So much for- 

“Let me,” Robert says and suddenly the water's draining away from the tub and there's a towel draped over Aaron's shoulders. His hand, it's turned over and something wet presses against the side of his thumb. It stings, the pain flaring bright and strong and Aaron... he wants _more_. 

He hates himself for it, but there's no denying it. He wants the pain to last, wants it to grow, until it blocks out everything else. The guilt and the shame and the fucking memories which threaten to rip his mind apart. And maybe Robert can read all that on Aaron's face because he only dabs at the torn skin for a few more seconds before replacing the antiseptic wipe with a band-aid. 

“So, that's a no to an early night, eh? 

“I don't wanna go to bed,” Aaron confirms, his voice rusty. 

He doesn't explain why. Doesn't have to, either. Robert knows. 

“Sofa?” Robert suggests. “You could kip there tonight. No one would mind.” 

The idea of sleeping, of closing his eyes and letting himself get dragged back to the past, makes him feel sick. 

“Or... I could sleep on the sofa?” Robert continues, his voice quieter but just as sincere. “If you want your bed for yourself tonight.” 

“Our bed,” Aaron corrects him automatically. “And no, 'course I don't. It's not you, Rob, it's-” 

He doesn't know how to say it. 

At least not without bringing the things that haunt him closer still. Between all that focus on Liv's money and the Mill, there's already been too much talk of Gordon lately. And now, now with Rebecca running her mouth, Aaron swears that he can feel the man's ghost looming over him. Can all but feel his dad's eyes on him as he stumbles out of the tub. He reaches blindly for the discarded pile of clothes even though his skin's still dripping wet. 

“Hang on,” Robert says, pushing him back and Aaron should hate that. 

Should hate Robert's hands on him – would have hated it an hour ago, maybe even five minutes ago – but somehow it feels right now. Right for Robert to put his hands on his shoulders. Right for Robert to step into his space and start drying him with the towel. It's a ratty old thing, with fraying seams and worn patches. It feels rough against Aaron's skin as Robert scrubs it over his shoulders and back. The friction doesn't hurt, but it warms the skin, leaving behind a warm blush. Robert dries his arms next, followed by his belly. When he comes to the operation scar, where the skin's still puckered and red, he dabs carefully but other than that he's almost ruthless in his efficiency. 

When Aaron's upper body's dry, Robert kneels down on the cold tile floor and works over Aaron's thighs, knees and shins. He even picks up Aaron's feet, propping them up on his own bent knee as he scrubs the towels over them with a focused look on his face. And maybe Aaron should hate that too. He's not a kid, after all. He can take care of himself. Has done for years. Only... he doesn't. He doesn't hate it at all. 

“Robert,” he says, then waits as Robert sits back on his heels and looks up at him. His hair's gone floppy from the damp air and his face's flushed from the heat. He looks... young and so very different from just little over a year ago. They'd barely been talking then, Aaron remembers, Robert fresh out of the hospital and Aaron fresh out of prison. 

“Yes?” Robert prompts, after Aaron just keep staring. The apology sticks in Aaron's throat. So does the thank you. 

“Sofa,” he says instead. “Definitely the sofa.” 

Robert smiles up at him. 

“Sofa, telly, tea,” he confirms. “It's a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it - only a few more stories left now! :)


	21. christmas 2016

Aaron hesitates just outside the threshold of the bedroom.

Robert's already in bed, lounging against the headboard with yet another Stephen King novel in his hands. He's not wearing his pajamas top and his skin looks golden in the soft light. Drinking in the sight of his fiancé, Aaron's struck with the sudden urge to peel back the duvet, to kiss each freckle on Robert's back and to mouth along the lengths of Robert's legs. He doesn't move though, just keeps standing there, playing with the cord of his bathrobe as he memorizes each detail of the scene in front of him. 

“You planning on lurking there all night?” Robert finally asks, sounding amused as he glances up from his book. 

His hair's messy and there's something in his eyes, something warm and fond which makes Aaron's knees feel weak. This is when he's supposed to say something witty, he thinks. This is when he's meant to _move_. Only instead, he bites his lip and stares at Robert's chest. Other than the scar from the operation, long since healed, the older man's skin's smooth and tanned. His nipples have pebbled in the cold air and there's a hint of softness near his belly. Aaron loves that softness for dozens of reasons, but mostly just to make up for how it's so obvious that Robert sees it as a flaw. 

“Aaron?” 

Robert puts his book upside down on the bed, for once not seeming to care about how the spine might crease. The new mattress – the one they bought after Robert's back started to pop and crack in the mornings – doesn't creak as he gets up and his bare feet don't make a noise as he pads across the floor. 

“Aaron,” he breathes and his arms, they wrap around Aaron's waist and the palms of his hands press against the small of Aaron's back and, just like that, they're standing there chest to chest. Aaron swallows hard and finally finds his voice. 

“You do things to me,” he confesses, pressing his nose into Robert's neck. If he'd been someone else he might have said more, but he's not. He's just Aaron Dingle so he settles for pushing himself close, holding on to Robert's arms and kissing his jaw. 

“I had an inkling,” Robert admits, sounding smug, yes, but also happy. Like maybe Aaron does things to him too. 

Robert's hands, they sink lower, inch by inch, until he's cupping Aaron's bottom. He has good hands, big and strong. Not as calloused as Aaron's, but not all smooth either. They tell a history, those hands, and Aaron likes that. Robert presses his lips against Aaron's temple, followed by his ear and then his neck. He pushes their groins together, his dick pressing hard and hot against the inside of Aaron's thigh. Aaron wants to push back, he really does, only they're in the bloody hallway so he's left with no choice but to nudge Robert back into the bedroom. 

Then he follows, closing the door behind them. He even takes the time to turn the lock, the _click_ loud in the quiet room. 

“Does this mean that I'm getting my Christmas present now instead of tomorrow morning?” Robert asks, his grin wide and his voice playful.

“Depends,” Aaron teases. “You been any good this year?” 

Robert pulls back, making a show of thinking it through. 

“Very good,” he eventually answers. “Top performance, all around.” 

Now it's Aaron's turn to grin, because how can he not when faced with the unbelievable cheek of the man. 

“Hm,” he says. “See, that's not what I've heard. No, I've been told that you've been up to all sorts. Supposedly, you even trussed up some teenage lad and stuffed him into the boot of your car.” 

Robert rolls his eyes and grabs hold of Aaron's waist again. Then he starts walking backwards, dragging Aaron along with him until they're standing by the bed. His pajama bottoms hang low on his hips and it's obvious that he's still hard. Aaron's mouth waters and he fumbles with the knot of his bathrobe cord, cursing himself for pulling it too tight. 

“The way I've heard it, you're no better,” he hears Robert say. “At least I fed mine.” 

“...I gave mine a bath?” Aaron tries, the words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Robert grimaces, but true to form he recovers quickly. 

“I may have sorta... terrorized a twelve-year-old?” he says. “Without going into any details, let's just say that it wasn't my proudest moment.” 

Aaron gapes at him, forgetting about Lachlan. 

“Wow,” he says. “That's really not gonna impress Santa, is it?” 

His fiancé smirks, ducking in for a quick kiss. 

“Good thing that it's not Santa that I'm trying to impress then,” he says, pushing the bathrobe down Aaron's shoulder.

He then spins them around so that, when they fall onto the bed, Aaron ends up underneath him. 

“Now,” Robert breathes, “about that Christmas present...” 

xxx 

Later, just as the clock ticks over to midnight and it's officially Christmas, Robert picks up their previous line of conversation. 

“You rescued a vicar,” he says, his voice muffled by the arm that he's folded over his face. There's sweat still glittering on his chest and strands of come cooling on his belly. “A retired one, sure, but I still reckon that must have earned you some points.” 

Aaron reaches down to brush some of Robert's hair out of his face. There's a blissed-out expression on his fiancé's face which makes the soreness of Aaron's thighs and the general state of their bed well worth it. 

“Don't think it works like that, mate,” he says mildly, reaching over Robert's limp body to rummage through the drawer on the other side of the bed. There, nestled next to the opened box of condoms and the half-empty bottle of lube, lays a pack of wet wipes. 

“You don't believe in redemption?” Robert asks. 

The mood changes in the room. It doesn't sour as much as it just turns serious. Aaron considers the question as he cleans himself, throwing the used wipes into the paper bin. He thinks about battering Paddy. About pouring poison down Jackson's throat. About covering up Katie's death. About all the rest; the people he hurt, let down or just put at risk. In the past few months alone, Aaron had committed burglary and nearly killed a seventeen-year-old boy. Yet here he was. As happy as he could ever remember being in his life. 

“I believe in second chances,” he compromises, holding out a few wipes for Robert. When their hands meet, Robert catches hold of his wrist. He squeezes it hard enough for Aaron to lift his head and meet his fiancé's eyes. 

“To second chances then,” Robert says, his voice still serious. 

“To second chances,” Aaron echoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, what kind of lousy advent calendar is this where you get the Christmas story on day 21? Sorry, but I really wanted to get in a few events which take place in the spring too!
> 
> (Also you got a smutty story with foreplay and clean-up but no actual sex in the middle. Sorry about that too ;-))


	22. spring 2017

It's strange, finally moving into the Mill.

At first, Liv barely recognizes the place without the stained tarpaulins, the builder's tools and the paint pots. Without it all – and without the Dingle army of helping hands – the house seems much too large for just the three of them. 

When she storms up the stairs, the sound echoes, amplifying as it bounces against the blank walls. The sound fills all that empty space in a way which makes Aaron flinch and Robert wince. And when Liv goes to sleep that very first night, all wrapped up in stiff bed linen, she does so without the familiar din of the pub. Aaron and Robert's room, it's not next to hers anymore and even with her door cracked open she can't make out anything but muffled voices. She drags the duvet over her head and wonders if maybe she made a mistake. If perhaps she's just been fooling herself into thinking that this giant house could ever be a home. 

It gets better, though, as Robert takes her with him to buy furniture which Aaron then puts together for them. Her brother scowls at the flat boxes, demanding to know what use they'll ever have for so many chairs – _there's only the three of us, and it's not like we'll be hosting banquets, seriously, Robert, you know this isn't Home Farm, don't you?_ – but she can tell that Aaron doesn't really mind it. That her big brother even sorta likes sitting there on the floor with her and Robert, putting all their new stuff together and eating take-away with his fingers because no one can find the box with cutlery. That he likes feeling normal and likes having his favorite people all to himself. 

Liv can tell because she feels the same way. 

So, over the course of several weeks, the three of them unpack their boxes and they hang up their pictures and, bit by bit, they make the house their own. Robert goes all squinty-eyed as he organizes the bookshelves and the DVD collection – _not alphabetically, Aaron, but by genre and in a chronologically descending order_ – and Aaron makes excited noises about some sound system that he hopes to invest into once he's a bit less skint. 

Liv, well, she has a room that's all hers, with a fresh coat of paint on the walls and a laptop that's meant for schoolwork. There's a shelf in the bathroom that's only for her stuff and the kitchen's stocked with things for her to snack on after school. Of course, there's also a list of rules, hammered out by Liv and Aaron together but written down in Robert's precise handwriting, stuck to the fridge. There's a handful of chores which she's made sure to complain about even though it's _nothing_ compared to what she'd been responsible for back when she'd lived with Sandra. Oh, and there's a bi-weekly appointment with a gray-haired, weird-smelling woman in Hotten who makes Liv talk about her feelings. The last bits sorta suck, but when she complains to Gabby, Liv's friend just rolls her eyes. 

“You said you wanted normal,” she points out. “Well, chores and rules, that's as normal as it gets, innit?” 

“And the therapy?” 

Gabby shrugs and looks away, hugging a pillow to her chest. 

“Around here, most people could do with some therapy,” she mutters and Liv can't really argue with that so she just throws her friend a KitKat bar. After Gabby leaves, Liv sneaks downstairs to nick a screwdriver. Then she carves her name, straight into the wooden paneling. Underneath it, she carves first her brother's name, then Robert's. When she's done she brushes off her knees and goes downstairs to watch Robert order her brother around in the kitchen. _Peel this,_ he says. _Chop that._ And Aaron grumbles but obeys, his hands careful around the sharp blade and his mouth twitching into a smile when he thinks that Robert's not looking. 

“Set the table, will you?” her brother asks. “And don't use the fancy plates.” 

“Them not being chipped or cracked doesn't mean that they're fancy,” Robert protests, trying to wriggle away as Aaron dries his hands on his apron. “Liv, I got you some of that peanut butter ice cream. But it's not for until after we've finished that algebra homework, alright? And I'm having half.” 

“What about me?” Aaron asks, turning his puppy eyes on them even though they all know that he's a big _weirdo_ who doesn't even like peanut butter ice cream. 

“You can fold the laundry,” Robert suggests with a smirk. “And vacuum upstairs.” 

They're still bickering as Liv goes to collect the plates and glasses. All the dinnerware's set on the lower shelves, within easy reach for her. She sneaks a peek at the food puttering away on the cooker. It's spaghetti bolognese – her absolute favorite – only Robert's made it from scratch instead of just heating up a jar of sauce. 

It dawns on her, then and there, that the new house will become a home. 

The three of them will make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you'll like it! <3 Also, out of curiosity, are you guys expecting 24 or 25 chapters?


	23. spring 2017

They throw a housewarming party.

Or, rather, _Robert_ throws a housewarming party to which he invites Aaron's family and friends on account of having none of his own. (Well, except his sister.) He then does his best to invite Liv's friends too but she puts quickly puts an end to that. She has enough problems fitting in and making new friends. The very last thing that she needs is to get known as the girl who invited people around to watch a bunch of grown-ups drink beer and eat pigs in a blanket. 

“We're not having _pigs in a blanket_ ,” Robert protests. “Vic' will be making hors d'oeuvres.” 

“And that makes it better how...?” Liv demands, rolling her eyes so hard that it hurts. For all that Robert's a clever bloke, there are times when he's as dense as a ton of bricks. “I'm not having anyone over for your lame party. End of.” 

“Probably just as well,” Aaron points out, smirking at them as he looks up from the magazine he'd been paging through for the past hour. “You do remember how the last party she hosted ended, don't you?” 

Robert makes a face then, worriedly eying the ugly statue that he's been insisting goes perfectly with the theme of the living room. Liv doesn't think living rooms ought to have a theme. Also, she strongly feels that the only place that Robert's statue ought to go is in the bin. What's worse, she knows that her brother fully agrees with her only he's being all boring and adult about it. 

“I suppose you're right,” Robert says hurriedly. “Adults only it is.” 

“Though I don't know what's wrong with pigs in a blanket,” her brother adds after a moment. “You don't really see Cain and the rest sitting around eating finger sandwiches and drinking champagne, do you?” 

“Well... I have seen them eating with their fingers?” 

Liv takes that as her cue to leave. 

xx 

On the day of the party, the house fills with people who love her brother and sorta tolerate Robert. Which, of course, means that her social butterfly of a brother goes to hide in the kitchen with Adam, leaving Robert to mingle with the Dingles. That goes about as well as can be expected and disaster's averted by Vic swooping in to save her brother. She drags him away with her to a corner of the room and when Liv checks on them a moment later, Robert's hand lays splayed over Vic's belly. The smile on his face looks all soft and stupid and Vic seems to be glowing as she gazes up at him. 

Liv's just snapping a couple of photos of them with her cellphone when a familiar figure ducks through the door. 

“Paddy's here,” she calls into the kitchen, giving Robert a meaningful look. 

He owes her a fiver, as he'd wagered against the old veterinarian showing up even though Aaron had personally delivered the invitation. Liv's not sure what the grudge is between Robert and Paddy but, knowing that Aaron loves them both, she's happy to see their newest guest. Well, as glad as she is to see anyone. Obviously, she'd be much happier up in her room with the new laptop and some chocolate, but Aaron, _the bloody hypocrite_ , has made it clear that the party's important to Robert and that she's to make a proper appearance. 

“So, what it's like to live with those two?” Paddy asks her, hovering anxiously by her elbow. 

“It's alright,” Liv mutters, helping herself to one of Vic's fancy appetizers. 

“Really?” Paddy says, sounding doubtful. Then he quickly adds: “Nothing against your brother or Robert, mind you. It's just that, the way I remember it, Aaron used to be a right horror to live with... Between him and Clyde, I'm really not sure who made the house smell worse.” 

“Oi!” Aaron shouts from the kitchen and Liv spares a moment to wonder if he'll be coming out of there before the party's over and everyone's left. 

“Who's Clyde?” she then asks, letting curiosity get the better of her. She can't remember hearing the name before although she figures it has to be yet another Dingle. 

At her question, Paddy grins widely. For the first time since he arrived, he looks comfortable. 

“Well,” he starts. “You see, it was the first of April and I'd just tricked your brother to come with me to old Mr. Merryhew's farm-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entirely angst-free chapter. Also a chapter with Paddy! 
> 
> I've decided that there will only be 24 parts. (But the idea for chapter 25 will be turned to an independent story later on! :)) That means that tomorrow I'll post the last part which is sorta sad because I've really enjoyed sharing this story with you, guys. But also it means that Christmas is just around the corner, so, yay! :) 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this chapter!


	24. spring 2017

_“You know, I really regretted telling you.”  
_

_“Regretted telling me about what?”_

_“About_ him _. I regretted telling you about what he did to me. I could see what it did to everyone, and I hated it. Making my mum so upset... knowing that I'd made a right mess out of Liv's life. But laying here beside you, with Liv just down the hallway, I don't regret it anymore. I'm just grateful that you found me when you did, that you kept asking and pushing. So... thank you. For not giving up on me.”_

_“I'm grateful too. Grateful that you're here.”_

_“There's nowhere else I'd rather be."_

_“Glad to hear that... but that's not what I meant. I'm just so damn grateful that you're here at all.”_

They've rolled over to their backs, laying side by side as they stare up at the ceiling of their new bedroom. Their fingers tangle together, Aaron's ring digging into Robert's palm. As Robert moves his thumb, resting it against the shallow dip in Aaron's wrist, he can feel the steady pulse. He likes to think that he's being discrete, but Aaron gives him a fond look and tugs him closer. His hands, warm and gentle, re-arrange them so that Robert's head comes to lie against Aaron's chest. 

It's a good place to be, feeling Aaron's lungs expand and deflate and hearing the familiar heartbeat. It's the way that they sleep when it's Robert's turn to wake in the middle of the night, caught in the maelstrom of his own turbulent past. Sometimes he dreams of people dying, other times of being sent away. Mostly, though, he dreams of Aaron slipping away from him, his body still and pale in a hospital bed. In Robert's nightmares, moments from real life all come together into one horrible Frankenstein creation; Aaron after his fall in the forest, Aaron after the septicemia, Aaron after the car crash... 

He shudders, wrapping an arm around Aaron's waist and inching closer until Aaron's hip pushes into Robert's belly. The duvet's heavy and warm and Aaron's skin smells nice. Yes, Robert thinks again, this is a good place to be. Just like Aaron, he can't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be. 

“I'm better now,” Aaron assures him. 

His hand finds its way to Robert's back, stroking along the length of the spine as if he thinks that maybe Robert needs that extra reassurance. 

Better, yeah, Robert quietly agrees, but still not good. The wickedly sharp edges, they're still there. Those bits and pieces of Aaron's past which slice you open if you come too close, the fears which make him lash out at others, the pain which makes him turn on himself... they're not gone. Those edges will most likely never disappear, although Robert clings to the hope that time will blunt them. 

“It's not just me either, I think,” Aaron says, his voice thoughtful. “We're all getting better, aren't we? You and Liv too.” 

Liv's definitely getting better. She might not have been too keen to see a counselor in the beginning – the way she'd looked at Robert when they'd brought it up, like he'd gone and stabbed her in the back, it had made his insides twist – but anyone could see that it had helped her. She didn't eavesdrop half as much as she'd used to in the beginning. Didn't get quite as tense and hyper-aware whenever he and Aaron disagreed about something either. Robert thinks that maybe, one of these days, Liv and her brother might finally have that very necessary talk about Aaron's scars. 

As for himself, well, Robert's doing his best. A year ago he'd sat on a sofa with Aaron, having one of the most difficult conversations of his life. That night, he'd quietly made a promise to himself to always be there for the other man. It was a promise that still he struggled to keep and he didn't hold any illusions that he'd ever be a _good_ man. But being with Aaron, it made him think that maybe he could be a better person. The best possible version of himself. 

Robert rolls on top of his husband, his forearms bracketing Aaron's head. He gazes down at the man that he's promised himself to; for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. And, as much as he hates to acknowledge it, he knows that there will be bad times. He'll mess up, or Aaron will. He knows that there will be times when his own ambition – his need to prove himself, to be the best and always win – will get in the way for their happiness. He knows that the demons in Aaron's head will fight their way to the surface again. 

But right now, they're good. And, no matter what might happen in the future, they'll be good again. They'll find their way back to each other. They always have, and they always will. 

“Yeah,” Robert says, as honest as he'll ever be. “I think you're right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So that's the end -- I hope it hit a good balance between sweet and angsty :) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with the story, for all the kind words that you've left and all the kudos! :) It's been so much fun to share this story with you and I hope you all have a good Christmas and that 2017 treats you well.


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